


Watch Me Burn

by writeratheart007301



Series: The S.H.I.E.L.D. Files [6]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, Getting Together, Mission Fic, Post-Mission, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27526237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeratheart007301/pseuds/writeratheart007301
Summary: “Oh,please,are you telling me that you’veneverwanted to kiss me?”“Ialwayswant to kiss you.”
Relationships: Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov
Series: The S.H.I.E.L.D. Files [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896979
Comments: 34
Kudos: 172





	1. Inferno

**Author's Note:**

> The drill hath not changed. Standalone plot. Events independent of the earlier story "Too Hot to Handle." 
> 
> _Although,_ you might want to notice the tAg cHaNgE. Sorry, I'm just a bit excited... I hope I've done justice.
> 
> PS: I should've mentioned it way before, I don't usually reply to comments (mainly because I'm not sure how to uniquely thank each one of them, sorry) but I do read them, and they do make my day. So please keep the reviews coming, it's great to hear from you!
> 
> Apologies for any typos/grammatical errors. Enjoy the story and stay safe!

#### The Soldier

Maria was waiting.

As in, she was _professionally_ waiting. That was her _job._

_Jesus, how about we try that again?_

Maria was _undercover_ as a member of the _service staff_ at a fancy hotel – one of the _fanciest_ in Rome _,_ actually – as a part of their mission. Given its grandeur, the architecture classic and Romanesque but its interior chic and regal, the hotel was hosting an imminent gala that evening.

The guests had started trickling into the large, cavernous function hall, and Maria had been ushering them to their assigned dinner tables and handing them their complementary welcome drink-of-their-choice. _Ergo_ , she was waiting.

But Maria was also _waiting._ For Romanoff.

The Russian was supposed to be the plus-one of one of the attendees – their target for the op – and she was supposed to arrive soon.

Said target – a young thirty-something rich kid named Jacob “Jake” Solomon – had checked-in to the hotel earlier that day, just like most of the guests attending the event, and the hotel was booked almost to its full capacity.

_Well, except for that room on the last storey; the one with the awkwardly placed statue outside its door that no one ever wants to take._

Maria had studied the hotel’s history (just for fun, because she was a sucker for Roman architecture) before this op, and that room had almost _never_ been booked. So much so, that there wasn’t even a CCTV monitoring that small area of the hotel.

And the management wasn’t ready to move that sculpture either; something about preserving the Renaissance art and all that. Not that Maria had a problem, though, because that sculpture really _was –_

_Statuesque._

Except, Maria wasn’t referring to the work of art anymore. Well, not _that particular_ work of art.

Because Romanoff had just walked into the function room.

She was standing by the entrance, her gaze sweeping around in search of something (or someone?). And Maria nearly staggered backwards as she looked at the redhead; the woman’s beauty hitting her like a bullet.

_A bullet straight to my heart._

The Russian was wearing an elegant pantsuit; the black colour standing out against her pale – _radiant –_ skin. The attire fit the redhead perfectly, accentuating her razor-sharp curves even more. The blazer of Romanoff’s suit was a shade darker than the blouse inside, matching the stilettoes that she was wearing.

_Damn, those heels almost make her my height._

The not-that-shorter-than-Maria-for-once woman had left her flaming red tresses loose, and the curls ended just above the cut of her top, teasing the swell of her –

_Focus, Hill._

But Maria could hardly help it as she took in the woman; a perfect sculpture of poise. The lights in the room seemed to bend around Romanoff as she stood near the door, almost as if she was too royal for them to even touch.

_Royal. That’s the word. She looks royal._

The Russian’s face was angled away, and she hadn’t spotted Maria yet, and Maria took the time to steady her breaths. Somehow gathering herself, she began walking towards the woman.

Maria reached her soon enough, and then quickly swept her gaze around to check that there weren’t any guests or staff members within earshot.

“Hey there, hot stuff,” Maria said, making the redhead turn around to look at her.

It was the first time Maria had used the shorter woman’s catchphrase, and Romanoff flashed her a blinding smile, her entire face lighting up by its brilliance.

The Russian opened her mouth – the mirth in her eyes almost _announcing_ the upcoming verbal jab – but then a horde of guests walked in through the entrance, just beside them, and Romanoff had to school her features.

“It’s _Nicole Rose_ , actually,” the redhead said, her eyebrows raised emphatically.

 _It’s an apt cover name,_ Maria mused, _she is a rose; prickly but still perfect._

“And _Ma’am,_ to you,” Romanoff added haughtily, playing her part of the wealthy heiress perfectly.

“Right, Ma’am,” Maria replied, slipping into her own role, “Yours is table 33. Let me take you there.”

The last of the attendees near them were escorted by some of the staff members, and soon there was just the two of them again.

And that devilish smirk was back on the Russian’s lips.

“ _Or_ , you know,” Romanoff whispered sultrily, leaning towards Maria, “You could just _take me here.”_

And Maria struggled to hold back her huff.

_Incorrigible minx._

Maria wanted to rebut, but they were already starting to get strange looks from the manager skulking near the door. She simply shook her head and then ushered the redhead further into the function room with a flourish.

They turned around and started walking, Maria leading the way as she guided “Ms Rose” to her table. The Russian followed just a step behind Maria, the material of her pants swishing as they glided across the posh carpeted floor.

“I look beautiful,” Romanoff piped up from behind.

“Is that self-praise?” Maria teased back, giving the woman a side glance as they walked, “Or did anyone actually tell you that?”

“Only your eyes,” the Russian quipped instantly, the smile _obvious_ in her voice.

And Maria turned her face to look ahead, hiding her own grin.

“Well, they were lying,” Maria replied, “Because you don’t look beautiful.”

Romanoff inevitably huffed and Maria abruptly stopped in her tracks. She turned around and the Russian nearly bumped into her, their faces just a couple of inches apart.

“You don’t look beautiful,” Maria repeated, gazing deep into the gorgeous emeralds, “You _are_ beautiful.”

The Russian’s cheeks reddened into a full-blown blush, and Maria immediately whirled around, the sight far too _fatal_ for her to survive.

They resumed walking, weaving through the throngs of people and the tables in the function room.

“You don’t look half as bad,” Romanoff spoke after a bit.

And Maria scoffed audibly at that.

She was in an all-black ensemble herself, but it wasn’t nearly as graceful as the redhead’s outfit. The dress pants were still fine, but the collar of Maria’s shirt was so damn stiff, it kept chafing painfully against her neck.

_And, not to mention, the uncomfortable-as-fuck gloves that all the waiters have to wear…_

“ _Please,”_ Maria sputtered consciously, “If we stood side-by-side, we’d make the perfect cast of ‘ _The Princess and the Peasant._ ’ The woke version, of course.”

“You’re right,” Romanoff said, her tone clearly cheeky, “We _do_ have chemistry.”

The Russian had parried away Maria’s self-deprecation rather _splendidly,_ and the gesture made Maria’s insides flutter with warmth.

“Besides,” the redhead added, “You’re really living up to your name, Agent.”

Maria could _sense_ the mischief in the Russian’s expression when Romanoff spoke again, “You look every bit the _hard-ass_ that you are in those pants.”

And Maria nearly stumbled in her gait.

_Incorrigible, insufferable minx._

She knew anything she’d say would only make the woman up her inappropriate-quips-ante, and she merely continued walking wordlessly.

They reached the Russian’s table soon and Maria stopped a few paces away, letting Romanoff pass her and walk ahead.

The rest of the guests assigned to that table hadn’t arrived yet, so Maria figured they still had some time to themselves before she’d have to get back to her “job.”

“Also, I should point out,” Romanoff said, not facing her yet as she placed her clutch onto the table, “I could never pass off as a princess.”

And then the redhead wheeled around to look at Maria, an eyebrow arched up artfully, “Because I’m a _queen.”_

It wasn’t even a statement. It was a _declaration._

_She really is a queen._

Bold. Brazen. Beautiful.

So _damn_ beautiful.

Maria cleared her throat discreetly and then reached into the pocket of her pants, producing a small velvet box in her hand.

“Well, then,” Maria grinned, placing the box on the table, “I’d like to pay my respects to Her Highness.”

Romanoff stared at the box incredulously, her eyes wide with shock for a few seconds before she morphed her expression into a smirk.

“If you want me to open that,” the Russian said, her voice just a tad breathless, “You’re going to have to go down on one knee and ask me nicely.”

And Maria cocked up an eyebrow at her: _you’ve got to be kidding me._

But the redhead merely jutted out her hip and raised her chin: _well, I’m not._

Maria glared at the woman for a bit, but Romanoff simply maintained the look. And Maria eventually rolled her eyes, sighing exaggeratedly.

She lowered herself to the floor, ever so slowly; her gaze never leaving the redhead’s. Maria knelt on the ground – just the way Romanoff wanted her to – and tilted her head up to keep looking at the Russian. And the redhead’s breath inevitably hitched, the green orbs filled with awe.

And just before Romanoff could do or say anything (or the other people in the room could see them like that), Maria dropped her eyes, her hand reaching out to pick up the name tag that had fallen on the floor, just beside the Russian’s foot.

Maria stood up promptly and grinned shrewdly at the redhead, pleased at herself for the trick she’d pulled.

“Now, _Ms Rose,”_ Maria smirked, waving the name tag in her hand, “ _Open the damn box._ ”

Romanoff quickly collected herself and picked up the box, finally obeying Maria. She opened it and then smiled widely, obviously liking what she saw.

The Russian plucked the earrings out of their fixtures, turning them around in her hand to take in the details. They were platinum studs shaped like small hourglasses – the Black Widow’s insignia – and Maria grinned like an idiot as she watched the redhead study them fondly.

The diamonds embedded in the triangles gleamed under the lights, but they couldn’t be brighter than the Russian’s smile.

“They’re gorgeous,” Romanoff whispered, her eyes still fixed on the jewellery.

“We need them to be _functional,”_ Maria replied, making the woman look up.

The Russian’s forehead knitted together in question, and Maria reached into her pocket once more. She pulled out a Bluetooth handsfree-like earpiece in her hand, and Romanoff instantly understood.

The rest of the hotel staff were also using a similar communication headset, so Maria didn’t have to worry about blending in.

The redhead proceeded to wear the earrings while Maria fixed her own device into her ear, and they quickly tested the comms.

“Wow,” Romanoff murmured, “The sound is crystal clear.”

“Yeah,” Maria said, “And you’re the only one who can hear the audio signal. The R&D geeks tried to explain the technology – something related to cartilage conduction – but I didn’t bother to listen fully.”

“Why?” the Russian said, a wicked-but-still-cute-as-hell grin on her lips, “You were too busy instructing them to get the earrings made as hourglasses?”

 _“No,”_ Maria replied, stretching the word for effect, “I was busy planning the _mission.”_

“And, speaking of that,” Maria added, “Any idea when your date is going to turn up?”

And just like that, they were back to business.

Romanoff’s “date” – Jake Solomon – was supposed to be involved in an important deal, just earlier that evening. If everything had gone according to schedule, then the man was essentially in possession of a hard drive, which they were supposed to secure, to complete their op.

“I saw Solomon come back to the hotel earlier this evening,” Maria spoke again, “But I’d been caught up with the preparations for the gala, and I couldn’t check if he had the drive with him.”

“He did,” Romanoff said, nodding in reply, “I’d been keeping an eye on him the whole day, before “running into” him and getting myself invited to this shindig. I saw the deal take place.”

“He should be here any minute, actually,” the redhead added, “We were just outside, and we’d met this other guy. Solomon said that he needed to have a quick word with him, and that I should go ahead first.”

“Okay, then,” Maria hummed, “That means we can continue with the plan.”

“Right,” Romanoff replied, “So, I just have to keep him occupied while you raid his room to search for the drive. Remind me again why you couldn’t do that _before_ this event started?”

“Solomon has a strict schedule for his housekeeping timings,” Maria answered, “And the next slot doesn’t come until an hour-and-a-half.”

“ _And,”_ Maria said emphatically, “Given the number of imminent dignitaries coming over today, the hotel security is stringently monitoring the CCTVs. Of the _entire building._ ”

“I wanted to try tampering with the footage,” Maria added, “But there’s almost an army of officers guarding the surveillance room. And a few patrolling on each floor.”

Maria sighed even though the mission hadn’t even begun, “The slightest sign of any funny business anywhere, and we’ll be rotting in Italian prison.”

“And, _naturally,_ S.H.I.E.L.D. will deny our existence,” Romanoff supplied, growling under her breath, “Because according to the world, we weren’t supposed to be here in first place…”

“Can’t we just bring Solomon in and question him?” the Russian said after a bit, “Why do I have to spend an evening with a repeat sex offender?”

 _Ah, right. There’s also_ that _detail._

“Solomon is the son of the _wealthiest man on Earth,”_ Maria pointed out, raising her eyebrows, “So we can’t just pick him off the road and interrogate him. His rich daddy will have our asses.”

 _“Okay,”_ the Russian grumbled, almost petulantly, “But then, why not just knock him out and then search his room? I’m sure people would believe it if we made it look like he got too drunk and passed out…”

“He’s also one of the _guest speakers_ after the performances later, Romanoff,” Maria replied, rolling her eyes, “And Solomon _has_ to talk; his dad’s company is funding this whole gala.”

The redhead pouted in protest, and Maria stifled her smile before speaking again, “This is one of the most major events across the globe; there’ll be news channels covering it later. We _cannot_ mess with the program.”

“But all this was in the mission file,” Maria said, a brow arched up, “Do you ever even _read_ them?”

“I _do_ , actually,” Romanoff said, a wolfish smirk on her lips, “But I still love it when you go all _Hill_ all over me.”

“ _In fact,”_ the Russian whispered, wiggling her eyebrows, “It’s just _one_ of the ways I’d like you to go all –”

 _“Right,”_ Maria cut her off, shaking her head at the woman’s antics, “I should reiterate, though, that this is a strictly _passive_ op.”

“We do not engage in any kind of a fight with anyone,” Maria said, her voice just a little stern, “We’re already in the spotlight and no one can know about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s involvement.”

The message was clear: _do not blow your cover._

“And if things start getting too shaky,” Maria added, “We immediately pull out.”

“Sounds a lot like male birth control,” Romanoff quipped, without missing a beat.

And Maria sputtered out a breathless laugh.

 _Trust the minx to turn_ anything _into a joke._

“Yeah, so, it should be straightforward,” Maria said, gathering herself, “Just don’t let Solomon go back to his room till I’ve replaced the drive with the fake one.”

“Easy for you to say, Hill,” the Russian retorted, “You don’t have to be the one seducing a perv.”

Maria winced at the words and gave the woman an apologetic look.

“I…” Maria mumbled, squashing the urge to scratch the back of her neck sheepishly, “I’ll make it up to you? If we finish the op…”

“Not _if,_ Hill _,_ ” Romanoff said, her lips curved up in a genuine smile, _“When.”_

“I’m sure we’ll complete the mission,” the redhead added, her gaze raking over Maria’s figure, “We’ve got S.H.I.E.L.D.’s _shiniest_ shield on the job.”

“And the _sharpest_ sword _,”_ Maria replied, almost automatically.

The Russian beamed back at her, her eyes soft yet sparkling, and Maria grinned back instantly.

Romanoff opened her mouth to speak, but she was once again stopped when a man – Solomon, himself – suddenly appeared beside them, greeting the shorter woman with a kiss on her cheek. The Russian smiled back at the man, but her features had hardened slightly, the mask back on her face as the op commenced.

Romanoff then looked towards Maria and gave her a curt nod. Maria returned it, bowing deferentially at both of them, and then wordlessly started walking away from the table.

“Hey, wait,” Romanoff called out, making Maria stop and turn around to face her.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Maria answered, her voice clipped and professional, “Is there anything you need?”

“Just some whiskey,” the Russian replied, her expression cordial but her gaze warm, “A tall glass of it, actually.”

Maria stared at the woman for a bit, surprised that she wasn’t ordering her usual drink. But then Romanoff gave her a tiny, almost imperceptible smile, and Maria understood.

_Vodka is Romanoff’s poison. Not “Ms Rose’s.”_

Maria’s eyes darted towards the man – the redhead’s “date” for the evening – before resting back on Romanoff, and she shot the woman a small smirk of her own.

“Would you like your whiskey _straight?”_ Maria said, her brows raised slightly to convey the innuendo.

The pun hit home instantly, and the Russian’s face nearly broke out into a grin.

“Straight, it shall be,” Romanoff said, the smile evident in her eyes, _“Just for tonight.”_

The Russian gave her a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink – _literally_ – and Maria curbed her own grin, nodding at the woman in response.

“And, listen,” Romanoff added, just before Maria could leave, “Make it quick.”

And Maria just knew that the redhead was talking about the _mission,_ not the drink.

Maria bowed in obedience before wheeling around, and proceeded to walk away, finally letting herself smile.

Behind her, Maria could hear the Russian’s laugh – _fake_ laugh, she could make out – at something Solomon said, and the grin on her lips grew even wider.

The game had begun, and the queen had made her move.

The poor pawn didn’t _– couldn’t –_ stand a chance.

* * *

_Okay, this is hell. I mean, to have to watch them do that…_

Maria felt a small wave of panic as she observed the dance performance happening on the stage in the function room; her heart almost leaping to her throat when she saw the man propel the female dancer insanely high in the air.

The guests were still having dinner while enjoying the array of performances lined up, and it was almost going to be time for Maria to move on to the next phase of the op.

But right now, Maria’s gaze was fixed on the dancers, and her focus was only broken when the comms suddenly came to life with a shrill crackle.

Romanoff’s throaty laugh was audible in her earpiece, “I’m sure you need to cool off before we go for the next round.”

Maria knew that the Russian was talking to Solomon, and her senses perked up as the words sunk in.

_Next round of what?_

Her head whipped in the direction of Romanoff’s table, and she saw the redhead get up from her seat and walk towards the washroom. Maria _also_ saw Solomon discreetly adjust his trousers, and her mind went into overdrive.

_Dammit, was Romanoff –_

“ _I wasn’t_ , Hill,” the Russian’s voice came in Maria’s earpiece once again.

Romanoff kept walking towards her destination, not even looking at Maria as she spoke again, “Whatever you think I was doing to Solomon, I wasn’t.”

“I meant the next round of _drinks,”_ the redhead added, her voice a hushed whisper over the comms.

And Maria smothered her relieved cough.

“It, uh…” Maria spoke into her earpiece, “It wouldn’t matter even if you were.”

“That’s a _lie,”_ Romanoff replied instantly, the huff heard clearly over the comms, “And we both know it.”

“It’s _not_ a lie, Romanoff,” Maria muttered, “I really wouldn’t care.”

The Russian scoffed audibly at the other end, “So, you’re telling me, that it wouldn’t bother you _at all_ if I go back to the table and, say… _kiss_ Solomon?”

Maria’s gaze flew to the woman’s face: _you wouldn’t…_

But even from the distance, Maria could read the challenge in Romanoff’s expression: _try me._

“Go ahead, Ms Rose,” Maria replied, her tone crisp and confident, “Be my guest.”

“A hundred bucks says that you’ll stop me,” Romanoff retorted, her voice just a little gruff.

Maria looked at the woman and raised her chin boldly, _“You’re on.”_

The Russian narrowed her eyes at Maria, and then started walking back to her table, their gazes briefly locking together. Maria looked away eventually, fully intending to fix her attention on the dance performance once again.

But Maria caught the movement in her peripheral vision, and she was forced to turn her head towards Romanoff’s table. She saw what was about to happen and gritted her teeth.

Maria promptly began walking towards the table, her strides long and hurried. Her gaze zeroed in on the man as he kept getting closer – _alarmingly_ closer – to the redhead.

And Maria reached the table to stop it right in time.

Maria caught the tray in her right hand, just before the waiter carrying it could spill the contents onto Romanoff.

The jostling made the soup from a bowl in the tray slosh over the edge, and some of it overflowed and fell onto Maria’s wrist, just above the point where her glove ended.

The liquid was scalding hot, the sting immediate as it burned Maria’s skin, and she just barely suppressed the hiss threatening to escape her lips. But she maintained her grip over the tray, holding it safely above – and _away from –_ the Russian.

Maria glared at the ham-handed waiter and the guy shot her a weak, distressed look before scampering away.

(Less than half-a-minute ago, she’d seen the scrawny man struggling with the multiple trays while he stumbled across the function room, and Maria had just known that he would drop something on the way.)

_Why would they hire waiters who can’t bloody wait?_

Her musing was cut short when she noticed Romanoff – and everyone at the table – gawking at her, their expressions almost appalled.

“I’m, uh…” Maria stuttered, placing the tray onto the table, “I apologise on behalf of my colleague.”

The guests gave her disapproving glances, and Maria simply bowed once before wheeling around to leave. But she was stopped by a hand holding hers.

Maria turned to face the table and found Romanoff staring at her hand, her eyes glued to the burn on Maria’s wrist. The Russian reached for a glass on the table – one containing ice cubes – and then brought it near Maria’s hand, gently pressing it around the red, inflamed skin.

Romanoff’s head was lowered as she focused on her task, her features sporting a frown, and Maria’s heart surged with warmth at the woman’s concern.

“You’ve got to be careful with the hot stuff,” the redhead mumbled, her voice small and apologetic.

Maria smiled at the words and then held Romanoff’s hand, freeing her own wrist from the woman’s grip. The redhead finally looked up and Maria could see the guilt in the green orbs, as if she was sorry for initiating the bet.

“The burn is what makes it worth it,” Maria whispered, widening her grin.

 _“Ma’am,”_ Maria added immediately, noticing the weird looks they were getting from the rest of the patrons at the table.

Maria flashed the Russian a reassuring smile and then stood up straighter, giving the guests a curt nod. She felt Romanoff quickly slip something into the pocket of her pants, but she didn’t check it just yet and proceeded to walk away.

Maria maintained her stride, not turning around to look at the redhead as she spoke into her earpiece, “I wouldn’t have interfered, Romanoff, if it wasn’t for that bumbling _idiot_ of a waiter.”

 _I wouldn’t have interfered,_ Maria had wanted to say, _because I knew you weren’t going to do it._

Maria reached her original spot – beside the dessert section – and propped herself against the wall, tilting her neck to glance towards Romanoff’s table.

“There are things you _want_ to do,” Maria added, crossing her arms over her chest, “And then there are things you _have_ to do. For the _mission_.”

Maria smiled even though the redhead wasn’t looking, “I wouldn’t judge you for _either_ of them.”

“Yeah,” the Russian replied, her voice soft and breathy, “I know.”

And even though Romanoff had been facing Solomon when she’d spoken, Maria knew the words were meant for her.

The redhead looked at Maria for just a second, her brows raised slightly, and then her eyes flitted down to Maria’s pants.

Maria understood instantly and reached into the pocket of her pants, eager to know what Romanoff had kept in there just earlier.

Maria recognised the texture of the item before she even pulled it out of her pocket to see it, and she found herself smiling uncontrollably.

She brought out the crisp 100 euro note – their bet amount – and admired it intently in her hand, like it was some kind of a divine treasure.

_They’ve got to be the most satisfying 100 bucks I’ve ever earned…_

And they were more valuable than all the gold and diamonds in the world.

Maria looked up, after about a million years, and saw that Romanoff had gotten off her table and was walking away from it. The Russian wasn’t facing Maria as she watched the performance going on, but she kept approaching Maria.

Romanoff stopped once she reached Maria – once she reached the _dessert section –_ and Maria had to remind herself to _not_ turn her head to look at the redhead standing just a few inches beside her.

And then, Romanoff whispered the three words that Maria had been dying to hear from her.

_“You win, Hill.”_

They still weren’t looking at each other, but Maria was pretty sure that the sound of her heart rattling against her ribcage was audible to the redhead.

In her peripheral vision, Maria saw the Russian reach for an éclair, and then the woman simply proceeded to whirl around and sashay back to her table.

They hadn’t even spared each other a single glance, and yet, for some reason, it was the most fulfilling exchange they’d ever had. Maria gave the note in her hand another fond squeeze before slipping it back into her pocket, the grin on her lips nearly incurable.

The dance performance _finally_ ended, and the next group of artists took over the stage. Maria checked her watch and realised it was her cue.

“Okay, Romanoff,” Maria spoke into her earpiece, “I’m going to go over to Solomon’s room now.”

“So, whatever games you have to play,” Maria said, smiling to herself, “Play them with _him.”_

She saw the redhead grin a little and found her own smile growing.

“Keep him busy,” Maria added, her gaze fixed on the Russian, _“By any means necessary.”_

And Romanoff’s shoulders relaxed, just infinitesimally, as if she’d been relieved off a burden. The movement was almost inconspicuous, but Maria caught it even from the distance.

And that’s when Maria got what _all_ of this had been.

_She needed to hear it from me. Needed to check that I was okay with this._

And Maria was touched beyond anything. She didn’t even understand _why,_ but she was touched. By the fact that Romanoff knew it was hard for Maria to watch her with someone else, even though they weren’t together themselves. (Yet.)

 _But it isn’t as troubling as you think,_ Maria thought, smiling at the redhead even though she wasn’t looking, _because I know he isn’t the one you want._

Romanoff tilted her head, making their gazes meet briefly, and she gave Maria a small nod. Maria returned it before turning around and leaving to proceed with the op.

But her mind stayed stuck on the masterstroke of a move that the woman had made.

It was a _crippling_ checkmate, and yet, Maria didn’t feel like she’d lost.

_No wonder the queen is the most powerful piece in chess._

* * *

“Romanoff, I need you to move to someplace where you can talk freely.”

Maria barely curbed the frustration in her voice as she barked the command into her earpiece.

At the other end, she could hear the Russian mutter something to excuse herself from her table. And Maria tapped her foot restlessly against the floor, waiting for the woman to respond.

“Okay, yeah, what is it?” Romanoff spoke after a bit, “Are you okay?”

The worry was evident in the woman’s tone and Maria realised the panic she’d inadvertently incited.

“I’m fine,” Maria replied, willing her voice to stay soft, “The _op,_ however, _isn’t.”_

Romanoff blew out a quiet sigh, “What’s the issue?”

Maria swept her gaze around the room she was in before answering, “The drive isn’t in Solomon’s room.”

 _“What?”_ Romanoff snapped, “Did you check –”

“His luggage?” Maria supplied, “Yeah, there’s nothing digital in there. Except for the many, _many_ CDs of porn.”

Romanoff let out a sound over the comms; something between a growl and a laugh.

“I’m thinking he might’ve had an accomplice,” Maria spoke again.

“That can’t be,” the Russian instantly replied, “I’ve been tracking him the whole day. After the deal was struck, he’d come back straight to the hotel, without meeting anyone on the way. I’m sure about that.”

“What about one of the guests at the gala?” Maria asked, “Did you see him with anyone tonight?”

“Nope,” Romanoff huffed, her tone rather irate, “He’s had his eyes glued to mine. And by that, I mean to my –”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maria cut her off, equally miffed, “I was there in the room. I know _exactly_ what he was staring at.”

“Why wouldn’t you let me finish, Hill?” the Russian spoke, her voice suddenly playful, “Does it, I don’t know… _bother you_ when I talk about –”

 _“If_ you’re done romanticising Solomon’s _lechery_ ,” Maria muttered, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, “I’d like to focus on the _mission._ ”

Romanoff snickered over the comms, and Maria _actually_ went ahead and rolled her eyes, even though the woman couldn’t see it.

“Well,” the Russian spoke, her tone serious this time, “I _did_ see Solomon talk to some guy, before we’d come into the function room, like I’d told you earlier.”

“But I’m pretty sure that he isn’t a guest,” Romanoff added, almost immediately, “Because I didn’t see the man again in the hall.”

Maria gnashed her teeth, her exasperation multiplying at the completely unexpected dead-end.

They stayed silent for a while, both probably reviewing the facts thus far: (1) the deal had taken place, so – for sure – Solomon had to have the hard drive, (2) the drive had to be somewhere in the hotel, but it _wasn’t_ in Solomon’s room, (3) the earlier point hinted at the idea of there being a partner, but –

“He need not have been a guest,” Romanoff suddenly spoke, her voice a cryptic whisper.

“What do you mean, Romanoff?” Maria mumbled into her earpiece, unable to decipher the woman’s tone.

 _“The accomplice,_ Hill,” the Russian responded, “I didn’t see him, because I was only focusing on the _guests…”_

The realisation dawned upon Maria quickly.

“He could’ve been a _staff member…”_ Maria murmured, her eyes widening involuntarily, “Damn, that’s _brilliant…”_

“Yeah, it’s really a _fact_ ,” Romanoff replied, her voice _obviously_ cocky, “The Roman goddess of beauty is Venus. And I’m a genius.”

And Maria could barely hold back her grin as she spoke into her earpiece, “I meant that it’s brilliant of _Solomon.”_

Because she just had to.

“But brownie points to you for making that rhyme,” Maria added, relishing the huff she earned from the Russian.

“Look at you, Hill; being such a thankless ass,” Romanoff grumbled over the comms, _“Maybe,_ instead of helping you, I should just go back to the guy who thinks that _I’m_ the goddess of –”

 _“Okay, okay,”_ Maria all but squeaked, inevitably making the Russian laugh at the other end.

“Now,” Romanoff spoke again, “Since you _aren’t_ romanticising _my intelligence_ , how about we get back to the op…?”

And the gravity of the situation settled in instantly.

“Right,” Maria replied, “So, the partner could be an insider. But _who_ could it _possibly_ –”

The answer hit her right out of the blue.

_The bumbling idiot from before. The waiter who didn’t know how to wait._

Maria was almost sure it was him.

“Okay, it _is_ a staff member,” Maria muttered into her earpiece, “Which means that the drive could literally be _anywhere_ in the hotel.”

“But you mentioned earlier that the CCTVs are being constantly checked, right?” the Russian pointed out, “So _then_ , said accomplice would want to _avoid_ being caught on camera…”

“And since he’s _part_ of the hotel staff,” Romanoff went on, her tone thoughtful, “He’d know the blind spots. Does that narrow it down for us…?”

And Maria figured it out immediately.

“It _does_ ,” Maria spoke, smiling to herself, “Because the hotel has just _one_ blind spot.”

That room on the last storey. The one that hadn’t been booked. The drive _had_ to be hidden there.

_If I’m right, I’m going to kiss that statue in front of the room._

“Okay, Hill,” the Russian suddenly piped up, her voice a little tensed, “Good talk, but you’ve got to get out of that room soon.”

“Why? What happened?” Maria asked, but she simultaneously started setting the things in the room the way they initially were.

 _“Because,”_ Romanoff answered, “Solomon just got a text from some anonymous contact that says this: _checking the package now, will meet you at your room later.”_

“You have Solomon’s _phone_ with you right now?” Maria said and paused in her work, genuinely surprised.

“Nope, just my own,” the Russian replied, rather smugly, “But it’s a _clone_ of _Solomon’s_ …”

“He’d left his phone on the table for a while before going to get dessert,” Romanoff explained, her _grin_ audible over the comms, “Just long enough for it to get caught in the Widow’s web…”

And this time, Maria simply couldn’t help it, “You’re a genius, Romanoff.”

And she could’ve sworn that the Russian almost _whooped_ at the other end.

“I knew you weren’t a thankless ass,” Romanoff said, her tone bright and chirpy, “You’re just a _hard-ass.”_

And Maria couldn’t hold back her own chuckle at the woman’s quip.

“It’s the first message that Solomon has received from that number,” Romanoff spoke after a bit, “Which is why I couldn’t have known until now. But it basically confirms our theory about the sidekick.”

“Yeah,” Maria replied, “Anyway, I think I know where the drive is. Let’s pray that I’m right.”

“You should go back to your table now,” Maria added, and proceeded to exit the room, “Solomon might be missing _Ms Rose_ already.”

“ _Yeah_ , right,” Romanoff nearly snorted.

But Maria could hear the rustle of fabric over the comms and she knew the Russian was probably walking back to her table.

“And, Hill?” the Russian spoke again, a slight lilt in her voice, _“Hurry up.”_

Maria rolled her eyes as she closed the door of Solomon’s room. There weren’t any security officers patrolling that storey right now, and Maria started walking down the corridor.

“Yeah, a queen doesn’t like waiting,” Maria responded, the words dripping with sarcasm, “I know.”

“I really _don’t_ like waiting,” Romanoff replied, her voice playful _,_ “I _do,_ however, like _waiters.”_

Maria couldn’t have countered the jab (she wondered if it even _was_ a jab), and she simply continued trudging further along the passage, reaching the elevator at the end of it soon enough.

They both knew that Romanoff had won, and yet, Maria shook her head fondly as she entered the lift and pressed the button to the topmost floor.

If theirs was a game of chess, then Maria knew exactly who she was.

_A knight, whose moves couldn’t possibly take down a queen._

Her defeat was all but inevitable.

* * *

The elevator took a good 33 seconds to reach the 14th – the _last –_ storey.

The doors of the lift dinged open and Maria stepped out of it, her eyes scanning the corridor for any officers.

But there weren’t any, and Maria was just about to heave a relieved sigh when a man appeared from the turn in the passageway.

The turn which led to _that_ room. The one in the blind spot.

And Maria recognised the guy as the clumsy waiter from before.

_He must’ve been in that room, checking the drive, like the text mentioned._

They continued walking towards each other and Maria reminded herself to not falter in her strides. She made just enough eye-contact with the man to not appear skittish, but not too much to cause suspicion.

But Maria could notice the guy’s eyes narrowing as they got nearer, almost as if he was attempting to identify her. And just before the man could see her up close, Maria made a sharp turn to her left, her hand reaching out to open the door to the service exit in the corridor.

Maria didn’t look back and simply started walking up the staircase leading to the roof, ensuring that her steps were smooth and casual. She didn’t hear the sound of the door opening behind her and she let herself relax.

_He hasn’t followed me._

Maria bounded up the stairs and soon reached the gate of the roof. She pushed it open and stepped out, the night breeze making her bangs flutter. She swept her gaze around for a bit, and then started walking towards the utility cabinet on the roof.

The terrace didn’t have any cameras and Maria worked freely, rummaging through the supplies for a bit till she found what she needed. She grabbed the bundle of rope and then began looking around for something suitable to anchor it against.

Maria knew that if the man was even a little bit smart, he’d be keeping a lookout at the door of the room. So, she couldn’t use the direct way to enter the room and get the drive. _But,_ all the rooms in the hotel had _balconies_ , so…

_Of course, I have to scale down the wall of a building in Rome…_

The lightning rod on the roof looked thick and sturdy enough, and Maria quickly tied one end of the rope around it, inspecting its tightness once she was done. The rope was old, and its texture was coarse, and Maria was suddenly grateful for the gloves she was wearing.

She walked up to the edge of the roof and threw the free end of the rope over. The length of the cord was just enough, and it ended right in front of the balcony’s top parapet.

This side of the building was facing a river – or maybe, it was a canal…? – and Maria didn’t have to worry about anyone spotting her as she’d climb down into the balcony of the room.

Maria peered over the edge and almost felt dizzy as she took in just how high up she was. The balcony was less than 10 metres below the roof, but if she slipped and fell while scaling down, then, well…

_It’ll be a one-way trip straight to hell._

Maria removed her earpiece and stuffed it into her pocket. She couldn’t afford any distractions. Taking a deep, calming breath, she squared her shoulders, her hands gripping the rope firmly.

Maria wondered if she should inform Romanoff about what she was going to do. But then she decided it would take too much time to explain. Maria smiled to herself as their recent exchange rang in her mind.

_A queen doesn’t like waiting. And she shouldn’t have to._

* * *

Hell would have to be postponed.

Because Maria managed to lower herself into the required balcony without falling to her death.

She gave the dangling rope another glance before rushing inside the room, her eyes sweeping around to take in the details of her surroundings.

None of the furniture in the room looked like it had been used, except for the wardrobe. Its door wasn’t locked properly, and Maria let out an amused huff.

 _Predictable. He’s kept the drive in the safety vault that the hotel provides for each room._

Maria walked up to it and then retrieved her earpiece from her pocket. The (obviously _dumb)_ sidekick might have texted the pass code of the vault to Solomon, and she could ask Romanoff to check the guy’s messages.

And Maria was about to speak into the device, but she was cut off before she even began.

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” Romanoff’s voice rang in her ear.

It took a few seconds for Maria to realise that the words weren’t meant for her. The Russian was talking to _Solomon._

And the confusion – and the _panic_ – was instantaneous.

There had been a full 2 to 3 minutes when Maria’s earpiece had been in her pocket, and she had no idea what had happened between Romanoff and Solomon in that span of time.

_What is she –_

“I’m actually with someone,” the Russian spoke – to Solomon, Maria knew – again.

“Someone who isn’t a _fucking rapist_ ,” Romanoff added, her voice a snarl.

And Maria somewhat understood what the woman was trying to do.

_She’s pissing him off. So that he’ll take his time with her…_

Which would give _Maria_ time.

The tell-tale sounds of scuffle took over at the other end, and Maria instantly wrenched the device out her ear, her hand quaking as she gripped it tightly. She stuffed the earpiece back into her pocket, her mind reeling as she tried to process the sudden developments.

Maria realised that the Russian was probably trying to stop Solomon from coming over to the very room that she was in right now. And she also knew that Romanoff was just going to let the man have his way.

_She’s not going to fight back._

Because Maria had given the command herself, just earlier that night: _keep him busy, by any means necessary._

Maria clenched her jaw, the bone in it twitching painfully. Remorse – _rage_ – coursed through her whole body, burning everything in its wake, and she had to take large gulps of air to ease the ache in her chest.

But Maria gathered herself soon enough and focused on her own task. On the _mission,_ she told herself. Maria pulled open the cupboard and glared at the vault in front of her, as if that would force it open. It looked rather old-fashioned and she quickly got to work, trying to crack the safe open.

The room was deathly silent around her, but Maria could hear the faint echoes in her mind. The echoes of what she’d heard over the comms, just a minute ago. Of the profanities Solomon had spat out. Of the gasp that had escaped Romanoff’s lips. Of the –

Click.

The safe was open. The _safe_. Was _open_.

Maria had easily outdone herself, but she didn’t feel even a shred of triumph as she pulled the door of the safe open and grabbed the hard drive inside it. She quickly reached into the back pocket of her pants and pulled out the fake drive to place it back into the safe.

And Maria had just closed the vault and the cupboard shut when she heard the sound of the room’s door trying to be opened.

_Fuck. It’s got to be the partner. Probably came back to check the drive one more time._

Maria didn’t bother to look in the direction of the door and dashed towards the balcony, her vision tunnelling around the end of the rope dangling just above the railing.

Maria reached there in the next second and dove over the edge of the railing, her hands flying out to grab the cord. She swung herself out of the balcony just before the sound of the room’s door being thrown open was heard.

Maria had turned her body such that the jump would propel her towards the left side of the balcony – out of sight for anyone who was watching from _inside_ the room – and she prayed that it had worked.

The momentum of the leap was far too large, and Maria saw the extended rim of the balcony’s parapet approaching her as her body swung back towards the wall of the building, right beside the balcony.

And Maria tried to angle herself mid-air, but it was a futile attempt, and the edge of the parapet caught her right in the collarbone of her left shoulder as her body hit the wall; the force of the collision making all her whole skeleton rattle.

Maria heard – _felt –_ the sickening snap of bone, but she bit back her cry somehow and kept holding the rope tightly with both her hands. Pain flared instantly from the site of impact, but Maria only gritted her teeth and began pulling at the cord, hauling herself higher in the air, above the balcony.

She scaled a few metres up the wall and then paused, bending her head to look down. There wasn’t anyone in the balcony below her, and Maria let herself breath.

_He didn’t see me get out of the room. Didn’t see me at all._

But Maria didn’t allow herself to rest and resumed scaling up the wall once again. Her wounded shoulder felt like it was on fire, her entire body trembling at the sheer effort of pulling herself up the rope, but she ignored the pain and kept moving.

Maria managed to make it up to the roof in the next agonising couple of minutes, and she all but collapsed onto the ground as she got down the edge of the terrace.

The aftershocks of the excruciating trial hadn’t ended, and Maria’s body writhed helplessly on the ground. She somehow rolled onto her good shoulder and pressed her forehead against the floor, her breaths coming out in ragged puffs.

Maria reached into her pocket as quickly as she could and pulled out her earpiece, her hand shaking as she fixed the device into her ear.

“Romanoff,” Maria croaked, her voice quivering with pain and _fury_ , “I’ve got the drive.”

And this time, _Maria_ whispered the three words that she knew _Romanoff_ was dying to hear from her.

_“Give him hell.”_


	2. Purgatorio

#### The Widow

Natasha checked her appearance for the third time before exiting the washroom in the hotel’s lobby.

She didn’t want Hill to see even the barest evidence of what had happened – what _hadn’t_ happened, actually – between her and Solomon.

But Natasha was pretty sure the lieutenant would catch the details. Hill _always_ caught the details.

The musing would have been pleasant, under other circumstances, but right now, it only made Natasha’s skin crawl. Hell, she’d had several honey-trap missions in the past, but they’d never made her _this_ uncomfortable. She could even go to the extent of saying that she almost felt _violated_ and _guilty._

And Natasha knew _exactly_ why.

_Because Hill’s in the same building._

She wondered if the _in-the-same-building_ part was even a requisite, at this point. Because Natasha really couldn’t be – couldn’t even _think_ about being – with anyone apart from Hill.

_I know that for sure now, better than ever._

Natasha pushed aside her thoughts and weaved through the foyer, eager to find the woman. And she’d just finished her third scan across the lobby when she finally spotted Hill.

The brunette was at the far end of the foyer, but Natasha could sense the woman’s distress even from the distance. And Natasha had the insane urge to run towards her, like it was a scene in one of those sappy romantic movies.

But they were still in public – with a few guests and staff members bustling around in the hallway outside the function room – and that was the only reason Natasha could trample the impulse. They started walking towards each other, their strides and expressions conspicuously cordial.

And Natasha took in the brunette’s appearance as they got nearer. Hill’s gait was purposeful, but it was slightly slower than Natasha’s, like she was consciously trying to maintain her pace. And the taller woman’s posture seemed strained, as if keeping herself upright was taking her special effort.

Hill’s shirt had some crinkles and it looked like it had been hurriedly tucked back into her pants. The brunette didn’t exactly look dishevelled – not to _anyone else –_ but Natasha knew that she’d been through an ordeal of her own.

They finally reached each other, stopping when they were just a couple of paces apart, and Natasha found her eyes scanning the taller woman’s sapphires.

But Hill didn’t meet her gaze, the blue orbs fixed on something lower. On the split lip, Natasha realised, that she’d tried so desperately to hide with her lipstick. The brunette’s jaw was clenched fiercely, and her chest was almost heaving.

And Natasha nearly rushed forward when Hill’s eyes flew up, flitting towards their crowded surroundings for a bit before resting on Natasha’s face again.

The warning flashed clearly in the sapphires: _stay in character._

“Ms Rose,” Hill began, her voice a tad hoarse, “Here is the item you requested.”

The brunette reached into the pocket of her pants and brought out a small plastic bag, the hotel’s logo embossed on it. Whatever was inside the bag was small and squarish in its shape, and Natasha knew it was the hard drive.

_We fucking went through hell for the damn thing._

Natasha gulped down her frustration and wordlessly took the bag from Hill, their fingers briefly brushing against each other. And that simple ghost of a touch seemed to soothe Natasha, despite everything.

The brunette raised her eyebrows and her orbs flew down towards the bag, staying there for less than a second before she gave Natasha a nod and left. But Natasha had received the message, and she waited till the woman was out of sight before opening the bag and checking the contents.

As expected, the hard drive was in there, but there was also a piece of paper resting beside it. Natasha made sure nobody was looking at her and then brought the note out, her hands fumbling a little as she rushed to open it.

She instantly recognised the lieutenant’s neat handwriting: _meet me outside in 5._

 _Huh,_ Natasha huffed internally, tucking the bag into the inner pocket of her blazer, _five minutes._

Natasha could wait for five more minutes. Could _burn_ for five more minutes.

* * *

It had been 7 minutes and Hill wasn’t here.

And the lieutenant was _never_ late.

Natasha was standing near the driveway of the hotel, and she had to remind herself to not pace impatiently. She waited another minute before her mind started to panic, and she forced herself to stay composed and think straight.

_Maybe she meant the back alley._

The thought filled her with hope and Natasha quickly started walking along the road beside the hotel. There wasn’t anyone in sight in the small lane, and Natasha increased her speed, not caring about maintaining her composure anymore.

Her stilettos were killing her – the shoe bites at the back of her ankles had probably already started bleeding out – but Natasha ignored the pain and trudged forward hurriedly.

And she was just a few metres away from the turn in the road leading to the back alley when she heard it.

The distant – but _distinct –_ sound of a gun being cocked.

Natasha froze in her tracks, her mind focused on locating the source of the noise. And she quickly realised that it had come from the very alley she was headed towards.

Natasha started walking forward again, her steps slow and cautious, and halted when she reached the bend in the road. She craned her neck just a little, peeking over the corner to catch a glimpse of the back alley, and her eyes instantly hardened as she took in the sight.

Several feet away from where Natasha was standing, there was a lanky man, his back towards Natasha and his right arm raised, obviously holding the weapon.

And further down the alley was _Hill,_ her features set in stone as she glared back at the guy. And at the gun that was pointed right at her.

There was a fair bit of gap between the brunette and the man, and Natasha knew that Hill wouldn’t risk trying to lunge for the weapon.

_He’ll fire immediately._

Natasha recognised the waiter’s uniform that the man was wearing, and she quickly connected the dots.

_It’s the accomplice._

Natasha began tiptoeing ahead, approaching the guy from behind, her strides soundless to not give herself away. Neither she nor Hill were carrying any weapons, and Natasha knew she had to do this carefully. Hill had obviously seen her, but she didn’t shift her eyes away from the man and the muzzle of his gun.

“Where’s the drive?” the guy spoke, his accent very, _very_ Italian, “I know the original is with you.”

Hill didn’t reply yet, and Natasha knew the woman was waiting for her to get in position. The man still hadn’t noticed Natasha’s presence, and Natasha briskly covered the remaining distance, stopping when she was just a single step away from him.

She gave Hill a grim nod, and the taller woman’s lips instantly curved up into a sneer, even though her gaze was still fixed on the man.

The guy scoffed in warning and gripped his gun tighter, _“Give_ me the _fucking_ drive, or _else_ – _”_

“I don’t have it,” Hill cut him off, and then finally moved her eyes to look at Natasha, “But _she_ does.”

And the man hadn’t even turned fully to follow the brunette’s gaze when Natasha wrapped her arm around his neck, grabbing him in a chokehold. Hill immediately took the cue and rushed forward, kicking the gun out of the guy’s grip.

The man drove his elbow backwards into Natasha’s ribs, but she only increased the force in her arm, a feral growl escaping her lips. He tried clawing at Natasha’s hand, but she maintained the vice-like grip.

Natasha could feel the life starting to leave the man as his legs buckled and he sank to his knees. He turned his head a little, like he wanted to see the face of his killer.

 _“You…”_ the guy croaked, his voice _literally_ strangled, “You’re Solomon’s girl…”

The words incensed Natasha to no end, and she outright roared. She pressed harder against the man’s throat, channelling all the anger and _humiliation_ of the night into her arm.

And she was about to reply when Hill suddenly appeared in front of the guy, crouching down before him. The man’s head whipped towards the movement and he nearly whimpered as he faced the lieutenant’s withering stare.

“She isn’t _anyone’s,”_ Hill snarled, her voice low but _menacing_ , “Not unless she _wants_ to be.”

Hill’s eyes were ablaze as she glowered at the guy, and he cowered in Natasha’s hold, the fire from the sapphires incinerating him.

Natasha had never seen the brunette this _furious_ , and she waited. Waited for Hill to unleash her wrath. Waited for the lieutenant to deliver the coup de grâce.

But Hill didn’t move.

She simply kept scowling at the man, the bone in her jaw twitching violently from being clenched so tightly. Hill’s entire body was trembling at the magnitude of strength it was taking her to hold back her rage, but her restraint was resolute.

And Natasha finally understood.

_She’s letting me have the kill. Because she knows I need this._

Natasha’s eyes never left the brunette’s face as she tightened her grip over the man’s neck one last time, finally freeing him of his misery. Hill’s eyes stayed on the guy as he fell to the ground, his body convulsing for a second before going still.

Natasha eventually swept her gaze around to take in her surroundings, and she realised that the alley ran right along a thin strip of a canal. Natasha quickly proceeded to drag the man’s limp form and threw it over the edge of the concrete fence, the sound of the splash coming just a second later.

Her head whipped around to check if anyone had witnessed their is-it-really-a-homicide-since-it-was-out-of-defence homicide, and Natasha sighed in relief when she found the alley empty apart from them.

She brought out her phone from her pocket, to check if the now-dead partner had sent any messages to Solomon, before dying. But the last sent text was a good half-an-hour ago – right after she’d spoken to Hill and the lieutenant had left to get the drive – and Natasha let herself relax.

_Solomon still doesn’t know. That the drive has been replaced with the fake one._

She turned around to face Hill and found the woman still on her knees, her gaze glued to the ground. Natasha walked up to her, and the brunette tilted her head up just as Natasha reached her.

“You saved my life,” Hill murmured, her eyes locking with Natasha’s.

Natasha gave her a shrug, “You saved my pride.”

_We both know which one is more valuable._

But the brunette flinched and lowered her head, her right hand balled into a fist against her thigh. And Natasha realised that the woman hadn’t grasped the full meaning behind the words.

She drilled her gaze into Hill’s kneeling form, willing the brunette to raise her head and look at her, so that she could tell her that –

“I followed your order,” Natasha said, unable to wait any longer.

 _“I know,”_ Hill rasped, her head still bowed.

Natasha almost cursed under her breath.

_She still hasn’t understood._

_“I gave him hell,_ Hill,” Natasha said, and the woman finally looked up, “ _Solomon_ , I mean. I gave Solomon hell, just like you asked me to.”

And Natasha _had_ given him hell. Not _nearly_ as much as she’d wished she could have, because he still had to speak at the gala. But enough to make sure he’d never be able to look her in the eye without crapping his pants.

Hill gave her a confused look, and Natasha mustered up the most devious smirk that she could manage.

“Let’s just say that his ‘ _hard drive,’”_ Natasha paused, wiggling her eyebrows conspiratorially, “Will be more of a _‘floppy disk,’_ for the next couple of days.”

The brunette’s eyes crinkled at the edges as the meaning sunk in, and she finally gave Natasha a small smile. But Natasha knew that the atmosphere had only barely lightened.

Hill stood up after a bit, but she still wasn’t meeting Natasha’s gaze. And Natasha figured that the lieutenant hadn’t heard much over the comms. Thankfully.

 _Or maybe_ not _thankfully,_ Natasha thought, studying the taller woman’s face, her expression enraged and rueful at the same time.

And a weird sensation filled Natasha, making her feel like she’d done something wrong – like she’d somehow _betrayed_ Hill – and she had the sudden urge to explain herself.

She gulped down the bitterness and began, “Earlier tonight –”

“It’s okay, Romanoff,” the brunette cut her off, her voice gentle as she finally faced Natasha, “You don’t have to justify whatever you had to do for the sake of the op. We got the drive and Solomon’s none the wiser. That’s all that matters.”

And just like that, all the nervousness left Natasha. Of course, she should’ve known that Hill wouldn’t need any clarification.

_She never does._

“But I want to tell you,” Natasha said, her smile sombre.

_I need to tell you._

The taller woman nodded, and Natasha began once again, “Earlier tonight, a few minutes after we’d spoken, Solomon got a text telling him to come up to some room on the 14th storey.”

“I figured that’s probably where the drive was,” Natasha said, sighing tiredly, “And I had to stop him. So, I suggested that we _‘do something fun instead.’_ ”

The events came back to her, and Natasha cringed internally. In front of her, Hill gave her yet another shaky nod, and Natasha knew she’d deduced that much.

“Solomon took up the offer instantly,” Natasha went on, “And the next thing I knew, he’d dragged me into the ladies' room, and…”

Natasha paused, her eyes squeezing close, her voice trembling a little. With _fury_.

“I, uh…” Natasha said, clearing her throat, “I resisted as much as I could without blowing my cover. And he got pissed off, _of course.”_

Natasha absently ran her tongue over her split lip, the memory burning her mind.

“But before he could do much,” Natasha continued, “A group of women walked into the washroom. So, he decided to take his quickie to his room.”

“And we’d just gotten there when your command came over the comms,” Natasha exhaled, not bothering to conceal the relief in her voice, “And since there _aren’t_ any cameras in the rooms, I could finally _‘do something fun.’_ The Widow’s edition, _obviously.”_

She finally looked towards Hill, and she found that the taller woman’s head was back to being bowed. Hill nodded back wordlessly, but Natasha knew there was still something hurting the brunette.

And Natasha couldn’t help but feel the same. It had been the perfect mission – their covers were still intact, they’d secured what they’d come here for, and they’d gotten off more or less scot-free (questionable, because she still hadn’t checked Hill’s _visibly_ stiff shoulder) – and yet, _something_ just didn’t feel right.

“We, uh…” Hill spoke eventually, “We’re not done with the op yet. We’ve got to transfer the data from the drive onto S.H.I.E.L.D.’s server, before Solomon realises that the one he has is fake.”

“Yeah,” Natasha nodded back, “There’s a cybercafé nearby. We’ll have to set up some encryption, but otherwise, it shouldn’t take too long to send over the data.”

“We should dispose the drive once we’re done,” Hill replied, “And also your phone. It’s best to not have anything even remotely incriminating with us, in the off chance that the cops come knocking.”

Natasha hummed in approval, and then stuck out her thumb in the direction of the canal beside them, “What about Signore Sidekick? Do we need to call anyone for doing a proper clean-up?”

“Don’t think so,” Hill answered, bending down to pick up the guy’s gun, “From this cheap pistol, it’s clear he was just a low-level henchman. Probably part of some local gang. We must’ve done Roman police a favour by taking him out.”

The taller woman walked over to the edge of the alley and tossed the weapon over into the water.

Natasha waited for her to come back before speaking, “Right, then, let’s get goi–”

“We shouldn’t be seen together yet,” Hill cut her off, “Not till we’re done with the drive.”

Natasha frowned, and the brunette sighed, “How about you go ahead and transfer the data, while I arrange for some clothes and other supplies? You can call me from a payphone to tell me where to meet you once you’re done.”

Natasha hated the suggestion – the _separation –_ but she knew that Hill had a point.

“Sure,” Natasha replied, and Hill returned a grim nod.

But Natasha couldn’t let them go their respective ways just yet, with the tension still tangible in the air.

“I trust that you know my bra size,” Natasha quipped, affecting as much mirth in her voice as possible, “It’s a little higher than the IQs of Solomon and his partner _combined.”_

The taller woman instantly growled, her expression steely, “That’s utter bullshit, Romanoff.”

And Natasha froze, suddenly doubting if cracking a joke right now was a good idea.

But then Hill’s gaze flitted down to Natasha’s chest for a few seconds before coming up again, her eyes shimmering with mischief.

“I’m pretty confident yours aren’t that _small,”_ the brunette replied, smirking at Natasha. 

They chuckled for a bit, and Natasha felt her frayed nerves relax, just a tad. The laughter fizzled out way too soon, and Hill gave her a quick nod before wheeling around and leaving.

Natasha watched her reach the end of the alley and disappear from her sight, and then turned around and started walking herself, in the opposite direction as the lieutenant.

She honestly couldn’t wait to be done with this op.

Couldn’t wait to _be with Hill._ In just about _any_ meaning of the words.

* * *

Hill had asked for separate rooms.

The mission was complete and they were at a middle-class (borderline seedy) hotel and _Hill had asked for separate rooms._

The taller woman handed Natasha a shopping bag with her supplies before snagging her own key off the reception counter, and they started walking up the stairs. Their rooms were on the same floor – just beside each other, actually – but Natasha couldn’t help being miffed at the brunette.

_We’ve had to sleep in the same room tons of times._

She kept glancing towards Hill, but the taller woman didn’t meet her gaze even once as they trudged up the steps. The brunette’s anguish was palpable, but Natasha didn’t know how to assuage it. Didn’t know how to even _read_ it, really.

_What could be troubling her so much that she can’t even look at me…?_

They reached their storey eventually, and then their rooms too, in a few seconds. And Natasha took her time as she fiddled with the knob of her door, her gaze darting towards Hill, who was fumbling herself as she tried to unlock the door to her room one-handedly.

But the stalling could only work for so long, and Natasha finally had to open her own door. She didn’t look back as she shuffled into the room, but her strides were heavy and slow.

_Please, Hill. Stop me._

“Wait,” Hill called out behind her, and Natasha turned around a little too fast.

“I forgot to do something,” the brunette said, and then walked into the room.

Hill kept approaching her and stopped only when they were just one pace away, their gazes locked together. But before Natasha could get the chance to search the depths of the taller woman’s orbs, Hill lowered herself to the floor.

For whatever godforsaken reason, the brunette was kneeling before her – for the _third time_ that night – and Natasha found herself stunned to silence.

The position was just so _reverent,_ it ravaged Natasha’s soul, razing every wall she’d built around it.

_Stand up, Hill._

But the brunette’s gaze was fixed on Natasha’s feet, and she couldn’t feel the fire in Natasha’s eyes. And Natasha was about to bend down to pull the woman up when Hill’s hand came forward, and she held Natasha’s leg.

The brunette tapped twice against the pants, and Natasha finally understood.

She lifted her leg a little above the floor, bracing herself against the wall beside her, and Hill proceeded to take the shoe off Natasha’s foot. The woman helped Natasha remove her other shoe as well, and the relief was immediate as the damn things _finally_ stopped squeezing Natasha’s feet.

Hill craned her neck to see the back of Natasha’s ankles, and then sucked in an audible breath, _“Jesus,_ Romanoff…”

And Natasha didn’t need to follow the woman’s gaze to know she was looking at the bloodied shoe bites. Hill reached into one of the bags in her hand and brought out some medical supplies.

She began cleaning the blood around the wound on the left foot, and Natasha had to stifle her hiss as the disinfectant touched her blistered skin. The brunette worked quickly and then taped a plaster over the tear.

Hill repeated the procedure with Natasha’s other foot, her head lowered the whole time, and Natasha could only watch her, the sight tugging at her heart. Once she was done, the brunette rummaged through the bags again, and the bittersweet ache in Natasha’s chest only increased as she saw the items in the woman’s hand.

Hill placed the new shoes – a comfortable but still chic pair of slip-ons – beside the old ones, and then finally looked up to meet Natasha’s gaze. And Natasha desperately wanted to say something, but she just couldn’t find her voice.

The brunette gave her a small, somewhat apologetic smile before standing up and walking out of the room wordlessly.

And Natasha simply stood there, so utterly _humbled_ by the whole gesture.

She heard the door of Hill’s room getting closed, and she was shaken out of her daze. And Natasha suddenly felt the tightness in her throat, almost as if flames were licking at her insides.

The wall beside her was thin, and she could hear the faint sounds of the brunette moving about in her own room, but it didn’t soothe Natasha one bit.

That distance between them… that distance was hell.

#### The Soldier

Maria had taken 7 rounds of their hotel, but it did nothing to end the tornado in her heart.

Her broken collarbone – her whole body, really – was aching, and she’d tried resting in her room for a while, but her mind had been buzzing. With all kinds of thoughts. And she’d just needed to get out and clear her head.

Maria didn’t even know why she was this disturbed, considering that she had personally handled some of Romanoff’s honey-trap missions, before this one.

_Maybe, it’s because of the way she’d looked at me…_

Maria remembered the dread on the redhead’s face when she’d described what had happened; as if she’d committed a crime. A crime _Maria_ made her commit. It was a fucking _illogical_ thought, but it still kept plaguing Maria.

And even though she desperately wanted to go to the redhead, she didn’t know if that would make Romanoff –

_Angry._

Maria froze in her tracks as she turned onto the main street, her gaze fixed on the entrance of their hotel, about 50 yards away from her.

Romanoff was standing there, staring – _glaring –_ back at Maria.

The Russian began walking towards her, the fire in her eyes increasing with her every step. She’d pulled her tresses up in a messy bun, its top end bouncing a little as she stalked down the road.

The redhead was wearing the new shoes, so she was back to her original height. And she was still in the same pants as before, but she’d switched the top for a cotton t-shirt that Maria had got her earlier. The outfit was almost a mismatch, but the woman still looked like a goddess.

_A very, very angry goddess._

Romanoff kept getting closer, and Maria could see the seething scowl on her face, her lips twitching manically. And Maria didn’t even realise she’d started backing away until the redhead was just one step away.

The Russian’s orbs almost looked _rabid_ with rage, and Maria braced herself for the blow she knew she was about to get.

Romanoff let out a low growl before all but lunging towards Maria, taking her into a hug so fierce, it made her stagger backwards.

Pain exploded all over Maria’s injured shoulder, and she’d never know how she managed to hold back her scream _and_ stay standing.

Her left arm remained limp, the fracture rendering it useless, but she raised her other hand and draped it around the shorter woman’s waist, somehow stabilising them. Romanoff tightened her arms around Maria’s midsection, her body trembling as she nuzzled her nose into the crook of Maria’s neck.

The Russian inhaled deeply, like it was the first breath she was taking in a long time, _“Why do you keep leaving me?”_

The sheer _desolation_ in the woman’s voice ripped right through Maria’s heart, and she pulled the redhead even closer to herself.

“I’m sorry,” Maria mumbled, “After tonight, I… I thought the last thing you needed was someone invading your space.”

A strangled sound escaped Romanoff’s lips, “I needed _you,_ Hill.”

“I…” Maria whispered, running her good hand down the column of the redhead’s spine, “I’ve got you.”

And just like that, the Russian’s body relaxed. Maria couldn’t fathom just what charm the words carried, but the tremors ceased instantly, and Romanoff sighed tiredly against Maria’s neck.

“It…” the redhead began, her voice small, “It _did_ bother you, didn’t it…?”

Maria understood what the woman was referring to, and she all but sagged against her, unable to deny it any longer.

“Yeah, it did,” Maria murmured, her chin falling onto the redhead’s shoulder, “It _does_.”

“It bothers me that you always have to do things you don’t want to do,” Maria breathed, her own voice hoarse.

Romanoff pulled out of the embrace and looked up at Maria, confusion marking her features, like she wasn’t expecting that answer.

“You’re ever prepared to do whatever it takes for the op,” Maria went on, dropping her gaze, “And I hate that you’re always taken for granted to do it. Even by _me._ ”

“It was our _job,_ Hill,” the Russian spoke immediately, “We couldn’t have done things differently. We both did whatever the mission demanded.”

“And we succeeded,” Romanoff added, her voice confident, “You said it yourself: that’s all that matters.”

 _“I know,”_ Maria replied, closing her eyes briefly before opening them.

“It just…” Maria exhaled, shaking her head frustratedly, “It just _sucks._ That’s all…”

Romanoff let out a bark of a laugh before hugging her again, gently this time, and Maria rested her cheek against the shorter woman’s hair.

“It really does suck,” the redhead murmured after a bit, “But not so much when you’re with me.”

And Maria just had to smile.

Her good hand rose without her volition and she slid it down the Russian’s back once again, resting the palm on the woman’s hip.

“I need you, Hill,” Romanoff repeated, tightening the embrace.

Except this time, it wasn’t a desperate plea. It was the Widow laying her claim.

As if to prove that, the Russian grabbed a fistful of Maria’s shirt, and Maria could feel the woman’s nails lightly scratching the skin of her back, despite the fabric in between.

“I need someone who…” Romanoff whispered, “Who would _treat me like a queen.”_

Maria could hear the grin in the woman’s voice, and she couldn’t hold back her own chuckle.

She squeezed the redhead’s waist lightly, “Well, then, I’m at your service, Ma’am.”

But Romanoff instantly broke apart and stumbled backwards a few steps, her expression suddenly pained.

 _“Don’t call me that,”_ the Russian rasped, “You aren’t some –”

“Shut up and hug me, Romanoff,” Maria cut her off, pulling her closer, “That’s an order, Agent.”

The redhead gawked at her for a few seconds before smiling and stepping into Maria’s embrace again, her head resting on Maria’s good shoulder.

Romanoff wrapped her arms around Maria’s midsection once more, and then stroked Maria’s back, ever so delicately, like she knew that Maria needed this just as much as she did.

The shorter woman snuggled impossibly closer, “A queen doesn’t take orders.”

And Maria didn’t bother curbing her laughter, the stark disparity between the words and the action amusing her like nothing ever did.

“Come on, now,” Romanoff spoke after a bit, “Let’s get going.”

They broke apart soon enough, and the redhead tugged at Maria’s good hand, leading the way.

Maria noticed the direction they were walking in, and she pulled at the shorter woman’s hand, “The hotel’s the _opposite_ way, Romanoff…”

“I know, Hill,” the Russian replied, giving her a side glance, “But we aren’t going back just yet.”

“Your post-op goody bag didn’t include food,” Romanoff clarified, “ _And,_ I happened to notice that the _waiters_ at the gala didn’t get to have dinner.”

And Maria couldn’t help but be touched. She gave the redhead’s hand a squeeze, making the woman turn to face her, and then shot her the widest grin she could muster.

“I might as well mention,” Maria began, raising her brows for emphasis, “That it didn’t escape my attention that some of the _guests_ seemed to be picking at their food the whole time; not really eating much of it.”

Romanoff instantly ducked her head, but Maria could see the shy – and yet _angelic –_ smile on the shorter woman’s lips.

Maria nudged the redhead’s hand, making the woman look up, “What? Was the service too substandard for your taste, Romanoff?”

Maria was grinning rather impishly, and the Russian narrowed her eyes, a wicked smirk dancing on her lips.

“Oh, the service was _splendid,”_ Romanoff replied, her voice husky, her eyes raking over Maria's figure before coming up again.

“It’s the _food_ I had a problem with,” the redhead said, her gaze softening, “Particularly the _soup.”_

“It wasn’t exactly my kind of hot stuff,” Romanoff added, winking at Maria.

Maria smiled fondly as they continued walking, the memory still fresh in her mind. Their hands weren’t entwined anymore, but the proximity was comforting enough.

“Pray tell me, Romanoff,” Maria spoke after a bit, “Where are we going to find a restaurant in this part of the town that’s still open this late?”

“If they aren’t, then they’ll open for me,” the Russian answered, “They’ll _have_ to.”

And Maria halted in her tracks, shaking her head at the woman’s arrant _arrogance._ Romanoff simply gave her a shrewd side glance and kept walking, her hips swaying as she strutted.

“Care to explain why?” Maria called out behind the woman, even though she kind of knew it already.

And the Russian stopped, just a couple of steps ahead, and whirled around to face Maria.

And Maria felt the wind knocking right out of her as the redhead arched up an eyebrow elegantly, forming the perfect – the _perfect –_ sculpture of poise. _Yet_ again.

_“Because I’m a queen.”_

* * *

“Wow, Romanoff, you really did it.”

“I’m a little offended that you doubted me in the first place.”

They were seated at a (dubiously legitimate) diner, waiting for their food, and they’d been watching the news telecast of the gala (one of its several re-runs) on the TV beside the cashier’s counter.

Solomon had just ended his speech, and sure enough, the man’s gait had been a tad funny – courtesy of the Widow – as he walked away from the podium.

They chuckled briefly, and they were going to shift their attention back to the screen when their orders were served.

Romanoff leered at her food savagely – her hungry eyes straight-up resembling those of _Wile E. Coyote_ – and she barely waited 3 seconds before _attacking_ the pasta.

The woman shovelled a huge forkful of it into her mouth, before Maria could even warn her, and she inevitably winced, her split lip probably aggravated by the steaming hot food.

Maria’s good hand was already in action, and she instantly picked up her glass of iced water and brought it near the redhead’s bruised lip, soothing the wound.

“ _God,_ Romanoff,” Maria muttered, rather _annoyed_ at the role-reversal, “You don’t have to be such an uncouth animal; the food won’t run away.”

But Romanoff was flashing her the cutest smile ever, her eyes gleaming, “The burn is what makes it worth it.”

The Russian added a wink, and Maria found herself grinning back, remembering the reference all too well.

Setting down the glass, Maria was about to retract her hand when Romanoff reached for it. The redhead held Maria’s hand in the softest grip, her eyes glued to the burn on Maria’s wrist.

Romanoff ghosted her thumb over the still-tender skin and then sighed, “Why does nothing I do ever hurt you, Hill?”

The woman’s voice was painfully small as she mumbled the words, and Maria felt her own heart clench. She had no idea where the question had come from, but when Romanoff looked up to meet her gaze, Maria could see the despair in the green orbs.

 _You can’t hurt me,_ Maria wanted to say, _because I know you never want to._

“A sword cuts through many things, Romanoff,” Maria said, a genuine smile on her lips, “But it can’t harm a _shield.”_

And the redhead’s face instantly lit up with the most gorgeous grin, and she ducked her head, her fingers absently playing with Maria’s.

They stayed like that for a while before Maria realised that their way-too-late dinner was still lying untouched. Her left hand was tucked close to her midsection, the throbbing in her fractured clavicle making it impossible for her to even _try_ raising it, and her right hand was in Romanoff’s grip.

And as much as Maria wanted their fingers to stay entangled, she really was famished. She tugged at their enmeshed hands, and the Russian finally looked up.

“I need that hand to eat, you know,” Maria said, a lopsided grin tugging at her lips.

Romanoff’s eyes darted towards Maria’s injured arm, “Are you ever going to tell me how you’ve busted your shoulder?”

“It’s the collarbone, actually,” Maria replied, rather offhandedly, “And, is it really relevant?”

The Russian gripped Maria’s hand a little tighter, “No, it isn’t.”

But the actual message could be clearly read in Romanoff’s emeralds: _it’s not relevant, but it is important; to me._

Maria gave her a small smile before answering, “Turns out, our sidekick didn’t have such a low IQ after all.”

“That room on the 14th storey…” Maria explained, “He’d been not-so-subtly guarding its door.”

 _“So,”_ Maria sighed heavily, “I had to use some other… _creative_ ways to get into the room…”

The Russian didn’t need any more details, and she ran her thumb over Maria’s knuckles, her own hand shaking just a little.

“You say that I’m always ready to go all out for the op,” Romanoff murmured, smiling wistfully, “But you’re just as bad as me.”

“Yeah,” Maria replied, her eyes flitting towards the redhead’s wounded lip, “But you still had to take one for the team...”

“I would do it again, you know,” the Russian mumbled, “If that’s the command.”

The words were poignant in a perturbing way. And Maria knew that was just the way Romanoff was. Capricious, yet coherent. Rebellious, yet resilient. Obnoxious – _as hell_ – and yet… _obedient._ Whenever it really mattered.

But Maria was far too tired to weave her way through the Widow’s web right now.

“Whatever happened to a queen not taking orders…” Maria smirked, cocking up an eyebrow.

The Russian shook her head fondly as she chuckled, her fingers threading through Maria’s.

 _“Dammit,”_ Romanoff spoke suddenly, “I just realised that I don’t have any cash on me to cover the bill…”

But before the worry could even set in, Maria squeezed their entwined hands, giving the redhead a reassuring smile.

“Relax, Romanoff,” Maria said, still grinning, “A hundred bucks – the ones that I have _in my pocket_ _right now_ – says that we’ll be able to pay for this meal.”

The Russian remembered it instantly – their little bet from earlier tonight – and she laughed lightly, the tinkling sound sending shivers down Maria’s spine.

“You win, Hill,” Romanoff whispered, her eyes glimmering even in the dingy settings of the diner.

“No, Romanoff,” Maria murmured, her own voice soft, “ _We_ won.”

And the redhead’s smile couldn’t have been more dazzling, the joy dancing across her features openly.

“Now,” Maria said, tugging at their hands, “You going to let me eat or what?”

Romanoff’s gaze mellowed immediately, but she didn’t let go of Maria’s hand. And Maria simply sighed back in (faux) exasperation, lacking the energy to even attempt guessing the Russian’s tactic.

And, lucky for her, Romanoff didn’t let her stew either. The redhead’s free hand came forward and she reached for the fork in Maria’s dish. And Maria could only gape at the woman as she brought up a forkful of the spaghetti near Maria’s lips, her other hand still gripping Maria’s.

 _Is she really going to_ feed _me…?_

And Maria realised her jaw was literally hanging when Romanoff shifted the fork even closer, the emeralds shining with the grin she was trying to curb.

Maria must have responded about _3 years_ later, finally accepting the bite, and Romanoff stopped holding back and laughed outright, probably savouring Maria’s dumbstruck look.

The Russian fed her a few more forkfuls before leaving Maria’s hand and leaning back against her chair.

“You forget, Hill,” Romanoff said, a gentle smile on her lips, “A game of chess has _two_ queens.”

“Always warring against each other,” the Russian added, raising an eyebrow haughtily, “And yet, always fighting for the same cause.”

It was a rather distorted echo of Maria’s earlier reply, from a few minutes ago, but Maria still had to grin back at the woman.

The redheaded flashed Maria another quick smile before taking her own fork and digging into her pasta. They lapsed into comfortable silence as they had their long-overdue dinner, and Maria’s mind wandered back to their whole exchange.

_We really did win._

The spaghetti-and-meatballs had a great flavour, but the taste of that word – _“we” –_ was entirely unbeatable.

* * *

Maria was beyond exhausted by the time they got back to their hotel.

She somehow dragged herself up the stairs to their storey and to their rooms, her hand shaking a bit as she slid it into her pocket to reach for the key.

And she hadn’t even brought it out when she felt a light touch on her arm. She looked to her side and saw Romanoff staring back at her, her gaze earnest and almost imploring.

The redhead tugged Maria towards her own room, and Maria simply let herself get pulled, too tired to even protest. Romanoff shut the door behind them before turning around to face Maria.

The Russian gently pushed Maria, making her back touch the wall, and then reached for the collar of Maria’s shirt. She began undoing the buttons and Maria chuckled weakly.

“You might think you’re royalty, Romanoff,” Maria mumbled, “But I’m not going to queen you right now.”

But the redhead didn’t even register the quip, her eyes fixed on Maria’s now-exposed injured shoulder. Maria was inherently a tad bony, but even she knew that the sickening bulge on her clavicle was _not_ normal; the whole shoulder red and marred.

 _“Dammit,_ Hill,” Romanoff whispered, “It’s a fracture...”

“Yeah,” Maria sighed, her good hand rising to touch the shorter woman’s bruised lip, “But I’m not the only one who’s had a rough night…”

Romanoff caught the hand before it could drop down, “Just because you see a wound doesn’t mean it hurts…”

The woman’s voice was just as delicate as the smile on her lips, and Maria had to avert her gaze; the softness in the green orbs somehow piercing her soul. But the movement made her eyes land on Romanoff’s wrist, and Maria clenched her jaw unconsciously.

She had noticed it long back and she’d been forcing herself to not think about it all the while. But right now, the sight of the handprints on the redhead’s wrist somehow burned right through Maria’s retina.

She couldn’t imagine just how _insulting_ it must have been for a woman of Romanoff’s calibre and pride to let herself get _manhandled_ –

“I know what you’re thinking,” Romanoff murmured, making her look up, “That you stripped me of my power.”

“But you _didn’t,”_ the redhead said, her voice bold this time, “And, frankly, it wouldn’t have mattered even if you had.”

An indignant growl escaped Maria’s lips, “But you had to get _humiliated –”_

“I don’t _need_ anyone else’s respect, Hill,” the Russian cut her off, “Can’t you see that…?”

And Maria could. See the reverence in the emeralds.

“You don’t need it,” Maria replied, her voice brittle, “But you _deserve_ it.”

_Even if you don’t think you do._

The shorter woman’s eyes mellowed for a second, as if she’d heard the unsaid words, and then that signature smirk was back on her lips.

“So what if the world doesn’t bow down,” Romanoff whispered, almost theatrically, “I’m a queen who’s never needed a crown.”

And Maria’s chuckle was all but a reflex, “You’re quite the poet today, aren’t you?”

“I don’t actually have the flair,” the Russian shrugged, a twinkle in her eyes, “Must be something in the Roman air…”

_Damn. She’s on a roll._

“Just…” Maria breathed, smiling fondly, “Always stay like this, Romanoff…”

“Flagrant and flamboyant,” Maria said, adding her two bits to their game, “Elegant and effervescent.”

“ _Insolent_ …” Maria added, chuckling as she shook her head, “… but _incandescent.”_

And the shorter woman gave her the most radiant smile, “You always do this, Hill…”

“Enable me,” Romanoff exhaled, her gaze softening, _“Embolden me.”_

“You make me stronger,” the redhead revealed, her voice a quiet whisper, “Always have, always will.”

The Russian’s orbs were filled with a strange kind of gratitude, and Maria found herself all but _riveted,_ unable to tear her own eyes away from the emeralds.

Romanoff gave her a tiny grin and then came forward. She rose on her toes as she got closer, and Maria bent down, knowing what was going to happen.

But right before their lips could meet, Maria tilted her face away, nipping the redhead’s ear instead.

“If you really want to kiss it better,” Maria whispered, “Then the wound is on my _shoulder_.”

Romanoff chuckled softly before pulling back, and Maria shot her a shaky smile, hoping that the apology would be conveyed: _not now; not like this._

The shorter woman returned a warm grin and shook her head reassuringly.

And just like that, all the lingering adrenaline escaped Maria’s system in a single breath, leaving behind just the fatigue and ache. Her body suddenly felt weak and powerless, the sheer exhaustion of the night weighing down on her bones all at once, and a ragged sigh escaped her lips.

Romanoff must have caught on it, and she furrowed her brows, “Come on, now, you need to rest.”

Maria could only nod in response and they began shuffling towards the bed. And she’d hardly taken her third step when Maria felt her knees buckle and she stumbled in her stride, her legs unable to support her own weight.

She blindly reached out with her good hand and grabbed Romanoff’s arm, somehow preventing herself from sinking to the floor. Maria’s legs wobbled helplessly, and she gripped the Russian’s arm like it was a lifeline, struggling to maintain her balance.

“M’sorry, Romanoff,” Maria muttered, dropping her head in defeat, “I can’t –”

“Hey, it’s okay,” the redhead whispered, holding her upright, “I’ve got you.”

And Maria could finally feel the magic. It wasn’t in the words; it was in the voice. Soft and soothing. Yet, strong and steady.

It could tame the flames of hell.

Romanoff had already draped an arm around Maria’s waist, stabilising her, while the other one held Maria’s good hand. And Maria let the shorter woman guide her to the bed, her own body utterly drained and boneless.

The Russian lowered Maria onto the mattress slowly, removing Maria’s boots before lifting her feet onto the bed. And Maria wanted to help her, but her limbs felt like lead, and she could barely stop her eyelids from drooping.

And she had no idea how much time had passed before she felt something cold and hard suddenly touch her wounded collarbone, and she gasped inadvertently, her eyes flying open. Maria’s body jerked upright involuntarily, and she immediately found a hand on her good shoulder, gently pushing her back onto the mattress.

Maria turned a little to look towards her injured side and saw the object – a soda can, probably from the mini-fridge in the room – pressed lightly against her shoulder. Romanoff was sitting beside her, on the edge of the bed, her features etched with concern as she moved the iced can over the swelling on the fractured collarbone.

Maria summoned the last iota of her energy and lifted her good hand, bringing it closer to the redhead’s face. Romanoff promptly bent forward, and Maria rubbed her knuckles over the woman’s cheek.

Maria forced herself to stay awake and gazed into the Russian’s eyes: _you’re really okay, right?_

She needed to know. Just one last time, she needed to know that –

“I’m fine, Hill,” Romanoff whispered, a smile on her lips, “As fine as wine.”

Maria grinned despite herself and raised her hand a little higher, sifting through the woman’s tresses.

“As fine as _red_ wine…” Maria murmured, and the redhead chuckled back.

Romanoff lowered Maria’s hand and placed it beside her before ducking her head and resuming the ministrations on the injured collarbone; the relief lulling Maria further towards oblivion.

“Just so you know,” Maria mumbled, making the Russian look up at her, “You aren’t a queen.”

And before her eyes could close for good, Maria gave the redhead a final smile, “You’re _the_ queen.”

_The queen of my heart._


	3. Paradiso

#### The Widow

Natasha woke up the next morning to the sound of a soft groan.

She turned her head towards the source and found Hill sitting on the edge of her side of the bed, her back facing Natasha.

Natasha saw the brunette move a little, to get up, and her senses were instantly alerted. She threw the covers off and lunged across the mattress to grab Hill’s good hand, making the woman turn around.

“If you even _think_ about leaving,” Natasha growled, her voice hoarse from disuse, “So help me God, Hill, I _will_ kill you.”

The brunette stared at her for a bit before an ashen look took over her features, “But I _have_ to.”

“If I stay here any longer, in this bed… with _you_ ,” Hill croaked, her own voice gruff, “Then I…”

The woman’s gaze flitted down to Natasha’s lips, her chest heaving a little. Natasha left the brunette’s hand and raised it to caress the woman’s jaw.

But Hill shook her head, her expression stricken, “I won’t be able to hold back anymore...”

“You don’t have to hold back, Hill,” Natasha murmured, her thumb shifting to ghost over the brunette’s lips.

“Romanoff, I…” Hill whispered, her eyes darkening as their gazes met, “I just… I’ve needed to do this for _so long…_ ”

“Tell me,” Natasha said, her own voice low and husky.

She unconsciously licked her lower lip, and the brunette’s breath hitched audibly. The woman started leaning forward, approaching Natasha ever so slowly, and stopped only when their faces were just an inch apart.

“Romanoff, I really…” Hill whispered, her good hand coming up and shifting Natasha’s bangs away, _“I really need to pee.”_

And Natasha took an _embarrassingly_ long time to realise that she’d fallen for the woman’s charade.

Natasha coughed breathlessly, desperately searching her mind for a witty retort. But she was just so hopelessly _flustered_ , she could barely find her voice.

_So much for being the goddamn Black Widow…_

And the brunette’s entirely futile attempts to curb her laughter didn’t help. At all.

Hill’s eyes quickly mellowed, and she pulled back, “So, do I have your permission to get up…?”

Natasha nodded back, “You might as well shower while you’re at it.”

The brunette followed Natasha’s gaze and saw the bags on the single table near the bed. Natasha had transferred them over from Hill’s room last night, after the woman had fallen asleep.

“You don’t want to go first?” Hill asked, standing up and walking over to the table.

“Nah, you can go ahead,” Natasha replied, her tone suddenly cheeky, “I might need a minute or two to myself.”

The taller woman turned to look at Natasha, her expression quizzical, and Natasha shot her the most _salacious_ simper ever.

“You aren’t the only one that needs to _relieve an urge,_ Hill,” Natasha drawled, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

The brunette’s eyes tracked the movement of Natasha’s hand as she hooked her thumb into the waistband of her own pants, sliding it along the edge oh-so-slowly.

“Now,” Natasha purred, slipping her fingers inside her pants, “I _could_ use your help, of course, if you’re –”

 _“Okay, stop,”_ Hill cut her off, her voice all but a squeak.

And Natasha brought her hand out, laughing heartily as the taller woman squirmed in front of her, supremely _scandalised_.

Hill cleared her throat before grabbing one of the bags, shaking her head as she shuffled over to the washroom.

The brunette stopped for a bit, just before closing the door, and looked at Natasha, her orbs a tad dimmer than earlier.

“Have some mercy, Romanoff,” Hill mumbled, dropping her gaze, “You’re harassing a wounded soldier…”

The taller woman’s voice was so small and meek, Natasha felt bad about the infernal teasing. And she was about to apologise when the brunette suddenly looked up and smirked.

“I have just _one_ functional shoulder, and I need it for myself,” Hill said, an eyebrow arched up wolfishly, “Or _else,_ I’d _definitely_ give you a hand.”

Natasha grasped the trick – and the pun – fast this time, and a treacherous grin nearly broke out on her face.

But before she could launch her own quip, the taller woman gave her a swift wink and shut the door of the washroom, wisely saving herself.

And Natasha could hardly help her own chuckle, the stalemate pleasing her like never before.

_Run, Hill, but there’s just so far you’ll go. You’re already in the web, and you won’t escape the Widow._

* * *

“They’re real. You can touch them to check it yourself; I won’t bite.”

“Oh, I _know_ they’re real, Romanoff. And I _have_ touched them, in case you don’t remember.”

Hill’s voice – and her smirk – was bold, but her cheeks had the slightest hint of a blush, like she knew she’d been caught staring.

Natasha was by the mirror, drying her hair (the hotel room surprisingly _had_ a hair dryer) after her shower. And out of the 3 minutes that she’d been at it, Hill had been watching her for _all_ of them.

The taller woman had gazed unflinchingly as Natasha’s tresses flew in the air, as though they were flames in a hearth. Hill had seemed so _mesmerised,_ Natasha almost hadn’t wanted to rip her out of her reverie.

(She’d had to clear her throat several times before the brunette’s focus returned.)

Natasha shot the taller woman a quick wink before shifting her focus back to the mirror, plaiting her hair, while Hill rummaged through the shopping bags, probably searching for the sling she’d got for herself.

The brunette was in jeans, just like Natasha, and a casual button-down shirt; the outfit hugging her lean figure well. Unlike her usual look, Hill had left her recently dried hair down, and it made her appear even thinner than she was. 

_Why does she ever even tie it up? She looks gorgeous like this…_

The taller woman soon found the sling and proceeded to wear it on her injured arm. And Natasha found the answer to the _inverse_ question.

_The hair style isn’t a choice right now…_

She walked up to Hill, reaching just when the brunette was done tightening the straps of her sling.

Natasha eyed the woman’s wounded – _immobile –_ shoulder for a bit before looking up, “Would you like me to tie your hair for you?”

It was such a simple question, and yet, just the _idea_ felt intimate, for some unfathomable reason. The taller woman seemed to share the sentiment, and she gawked at Natasha for a while, her expression genuinely shocked.

“I, uh…” Hill spoke eventually, her voice breathy, “Yes, please, if you don’t mind…”

Natasha gave her a soft smile and they shuffled over to the bed. The brunette sat down at the edge of the mattress while Natasha brought over the comb and a few rubber bands.

She ran her fingers through the woman’s hair, and she felt a strange tingle across her skin, the sensation foreign yet pleasant.

“Do you have any preference?” Natasha asked, her hand still tangled in the dark brown locks.

Hill shook her head lightly, “No, uh, anything will do…”

Natasha nearly chuckled at how nervous the brunette sounded. She didn’t reply and quickly got to work, tying the woman’s hair in a simple ponytail, adding a single, thin side braid to jazz up the look.

She tapped Hill’s shoulder twice once she was done, and the brunette promptly stood up and turned around to face her, that adorable lopsided grin tugging at her lips.

“Well,” Natasha said, smiling at the taller woman, _“‘Anything’_ looks good on you.”

Hill shook her head and chuckled coyly, making some of her bangs fall over her face, and Natasha’s hand almost rose to shift them away.

Her hesitation was hilarious, really, considering that she’d just _tied the woman’s hair._ And Natasha couldn’t help but duck her head and smile to herself.

“You _can_ touch them, you know,” Hill said, making her look up, “I won’t bite either.”

The taller woman added a wink, and Natasha let herself grin openly, her hand coming up and moving the stray strands behind the brunette’s ear.

“Okay, then,” Natasha said, clearing her throat, “We should leave now. We’re already late.”

Hill blew out a light huff, “I didn’t know we had an itinerary…”

“Well, we _do,_ Hill,” Natasha replied, grinning at the brunette, “If you actually want to _visit_ all those places that you’ve only seen in your laptop’s screensavers…”

Hill’s expression froze and she gaped at Natasha yet again, the blue orbs widening with awe.

Natasha had known about the lieutenant’s love for Rome, and it had been surprising to know that the woman had never been to the city before. It was the very reason Natasha had pestered Fury into pairing them up for this mission.

_That, and the fact that ops are so much fun with her._

“Come on, Hill, chop-chop,” Natasha spoke, shaking the brunette out of her stupor, “Save that look for something pretty, like the Pantheon, or St. Peter’s Basilica, or –”

 _“You…”_ Hill cut her off, her voice a reverent whisper, “… are a certified _creep_ for going through my laptop.”

Natasha sputtered out a defensive scoff, “I didn’t _‘go through’_ it, Hill, I just caught a glimpse of the screen _by chance_ when –”

She was stopped mid-rant when the taller woman bent down and pecked her cheek. For the first. Time. _Ever._

Hill pulled back immediately, a shy smile on her lips, “Thank you.”

The brunette promptly walked over to the table and gathered the stuff they’d need, while Natasha simply stood there, rooted to her spot, wondering which one of the two – the kiss or the words – was softer.

It took her a few _years,_ but Natasha managed to drag herself out of her trance. Hill was waiting for her by the door, and Natasha quickly shuffled over to her.

“Well, then, Romanoff,” Hill whispered, the sparkle in her sapphires almost sublime, “The Eternal City awaits.”

* * *

They were still on the streets, looking for a place to grab breakfast when it happened.

Natasha had noticed it a while ago, and she’d dismissed it as paranoia. But she saw it again right now – the image of the two men in the side-mirror of the scooter they’d just walked past – and she was pretty sure they were being followed.

The street around them was sparsely populated and there weren’t any turns or shops visible in the near vicinity for them to lose the tail.

Natasha tugged at Hill’s good hand, right beside hers, “We’re being followed.”

“Yeah,” the taller woman replied, “I noticed it too.”

“They might remember me because I was one of the VVIP’s date,” Natasha muttered sourly, “Solomon pretty much paraded me around last night…”

Hill let out a low growl, her grip over Natasha’s hand tightening. Natasha tilted her head just a bit, and she could see the men still tagging them in her peripheral vision.

“Okay, Hill,” Natasha said, stopping and turning to look at the brunette, “Quick: kiss me.”

Hill’s eyes immediately widened, and Natasha rushed to clarify, “Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable.”

“And if they haven’t recognised me yet,” Natasha argued, “It would throw them off even more, if I kiss a _woman_ right now.”

The panic was evident in the blue orbs, but Natasha simply pulled the brunette closer, rising on her toes.

But Hill averted her face before their lips touched, _“You can’t kiss me every time you want to end an argument!”_

The taller woman had all but _yelled_ that out – in Italian – and Natasha almost jumped backwards, confounded to the core.

Hill’s voice had been loud enough for the civilians around them to shoot concerned glances their way, and Natasha noticed them scattering away hurriedly.

She looked back at the brunette and saw the instruction flashing in the blue orbs: _play along._

 _“Okay, then,”_ Natasha replied in Italian, just as vehemently, _“Let’s have this conversation right now, once and for all.”_

 _“I’m sick of this!”_ Hill raved, resuming the act, _“Of the games and the tricks. I’ve tolerated them all this while, but I can’t do it anymore!”_

 _“Oh, yeah?”_ Natasha retorted, matching the brunette’s fervour, _“Then maybe we should just end this, here and now!”_

Hill’s eyes softened and she gave her a half-grin, “Yeah, we should end this.”

The taller woman had switched back to English, the bitterness gone from her voice, and Natasha quirked up an eyebrow in question.

She tracked the movement of Hill’s head as she turned to look behind them, and she found that the men following them had disappeared.

_Right. The show’s over._

“You know what’s more uncomfortable to watch than couples making out?” the brunette said, making Natasha face her again, “Couples _breaking up.”_

And even though Natasha was impressed by the alternate tactic, she couldn’t help feeling a little hurt.

“So, your idea worked, Hill,” Natasha said, willing her voice to stay strong, “But mine wasn’t entirely revolting either…”

_Last night was still understandable, but why couldn’t she kiss me today?_

“Your idea would’ve been successful too,” Hill said, eyeing her carefully, “But it just didn’t feel right.”

The words felt like a punch to her gut, and Natasha clenched her jaw self-consciously, struggling to push down the unfamiliar pain in her heart.

_Is she really that repulsed by the thought of kissing me that she can’t do it even when our lives might depend on it…?_

“Oh, _please,_ Hill,” Natasha sneered, as scornfully as she could, “Are you telling me that you’ve _never_ wanted to kiss me?”

And despite her resolve, Natasha’s voice cracked towards the end, and she gritted her teeth, determined not to let any more emotions slip.

Hill instantly caught on it, and her expression mellowed, her eyes almost glazing over as she ducked her head. But Natasha kept glaring at the taller woman, willing her to face her and answer her.

_Come on, Hill. I couldn’t have been reading it wrong all this time…_

Hill eventually looked up, her orbs filled with a strange kind of anguish, “I _always_ want to kiss you, Romanoff.”

The whispered confession echoed deafeningly in Natasha’s mind.

She felt her pulse rushing in her ears, and she couldn’t find her voice – or a reply – to give the brunette.

“I always want _you_ to kiss me,” Hill murmured, a sad smile on her lips, “But not out of desperation.”

“And _never_ out of obligation,” the taller woman added, almost immediately.

And Natasha got it: two rejections, two explanations.

Hill’s good hand rose but she stopped it from making contact just a few inches away from Natasha’s face. The brunette let the arm drop beside her, her sapphires lacking their usual lustre.

“I don’t want you to _need_ me, Romanoff,” Hill whispered, “I need you to _want_ me.”

And Natasha's breath got caught in her throat.

The taller woman gave her one last wistful smile before she started walking away, but Natasha was frozen to her spot, her mind reeling at the woefully moving words.

And right then, the other touching – _tragically_ touching – realisation hit her.

 _It has always –_ always – _been about what I want…_

Even when it came to the _mission._

Natasha’s mind wandered back to the op – to _all_ of their time together, really – and she found that it was true. She went over every action, every interaction, and it only proved her right.

Hill had _always_ satisfied Natasha’s whims, so long as they were harmless. Maybe not readily, but _religiously._

_Every damn time…_

And just like that, Natasha was spurred into motion, and she rushed towards the taller woman. She took Hill’s good hand, making her turn around.

And Natasha finally let herself see it. _Feel_ it. The adoration – _tides_ of it – cascading down the blue orbs.

The intensity in them incinerated her. The _longing_ in them _liberated_ her.

And she couldn’t fight it anymore. Didn’t _want_ to fight it anymore.

Natasha rose on her toes and pressed her lips against the taller woman’s.

She kept the kiss slow and gentle, despite the sparks of delight going off in her heart. But Hill didn’t respond, her lips quivering heart-breakingly under Natasha’s.

Natasha pulled back to look at the brunette’s face, and she found the sapphires filled with disbelief. And despair.

_She needs me to say it…_

Unlike so many of their silent exchanges, _this_ was something that just had to be said. To make it tangible.

Natasha brought her hand up and cupped the taller woman’s cheek, her thumb tracing the bone beneath Hill’s eye as she tried to search for the right words.

Natasha found them soon enough, and she gave the brunette her softest smile.

_“I want you.”_

For _once,_ it was just the truth. No games, no tricks.

And the brunette’s breath hitched, her lips parting slightly. Her eyes kept drifting over Natasha’s face, like she was waiting for the trap to present itself.

 _“I want you,_ Hill,” Natasha repeated, her knuckles stroking the woman’s jaw, “There used to be a time when I wished I didn’t. But I don’t feel that way anymore…”

Natasha figured that it wasn’t the best thing to say to someone you want to kiss. But she was sure Hill would understand.

_She’ll understand just how difficult this is for me…_

To let go of the infinite inhibitions.

But then that shimmer returned to the taller woman’s orbs, her eyes crinkling at the edges with a smile, and Natasha realised that it really _wasn’t_ that difficult.

 _Nothing_ was difficult with Hill.

Natasha had always felt comfortable – and _safe –_ in the brunette’s presence. And she suddenly felt like a moron for having waited this long.

Natasha let out a gruff chuckle before grabbing the collar of Hill’s shirt – a move she knew the taller woman not-so-secretly loved – and tugged her closer.

“Now, Hill, for the _love_ of God,” Natasha said, her voice a growl despite the grin on her lips, _“Kiss me.”_

The brunette didn’t require any more permission, and she rushed forward to capture Natasha’s lips.

And Natasha could hardly believe the sheer _bliss_ that filled her whole being.

Hill’s hand came up and she held Natasha’s face, her grip tender as she deepened the kiss. Natasha raised her hands and crossed them behind the taller woman’s neck, caressing the nape as their lips kept moving together.

_Damn, this is what heaven feels like…_

They broke apart an eternity later, the smiles on their faces all but _transcendent._ Natasha kept her hands at the nape of Hill’s neck, while the brunette’s arm slid down and her palm rested on Natasha’s waist.

Hill’s mouth kept opening and closing for a while, as if she couldn’t find the words, and she eventually ducked her head, giving up on speaking altogether. Natasha brought a hand down and hooked a finger under the taller woman’s chin, tilting her head up.

“What are you thinking?” Natasha whispered, still panting a little from the kiss.

 _“God,_ I…” Hill chuckled breathlessly, “I’m just wondering what changed. What made you want this right now…”

“I’ve _always_ wanted this,” Natasha replied instantly, making the brunette’s grin widen even more.

But the question was still hanging in the air, and Natasha knew she had to answer it, cohesively or not.

“I wanted you,” Natasha repeated, her voice soft, “But I could never admit it. Even to myself.”

“But then,” Natasha breathed, gazing deep into the sapphires, “You told me last night, that I deserve it…”

_I deserve you._

The thought was too good to be true, but Natasha found herself wanting to believe it.

“I meant that,” Hill murmured, her orbs shining with reverence, “You deserve it – whether it’s happiness, or absolution – because you’ve _earned_ it.”

The taller woman’s voice was as staunch as it was soft, “You’re capable of – and you _have_ done – good. And, like everything else, it _does_ count.”

“You might never be able to see it,” Hill whispered, _“But_ _red isn’t the only colour in your ledger.”_

And Natasha immediately ducked her head, tears springing up in her eyes.

She stepped forward and hugged the brunette gently, mindful of her wounded shoulder, and hid her face in the crook of Hill’s neck. And the embrace was unbelievably comforting, despite the brunette’s injured arm wedged between them.

Hill ran a soothing hand down Natasha’s back and nuzzled her cheek against Natasha’s hair. The taller woman let out a sigh and gave Natasha’s waist a light squeeze.

And Natasha understood the touch. It was an apology, for hitting the raw nerve. And Natasha couldn’t help her smile, because the woman didn’t _know_. Didn’t know that these were tears of _relief._ Of _peace._

Natasha knew that the remorse would never go away. But maybe it didn’t need to. She could deal with it, so long as she had Hill’s admiration. Hill’s veneration. _Hill._

And maybe that was enough. Because Hill’s conviction was consummate. It wasn’t just blind belief; it had credibility _._

_She knows the darkness I’ve spread, and yet she sees light in me…_

Serenity followed the thought almost immediately, and Natasha melted right into the hug.

But the atmosphere had inevitably – and _unnecessarily –_ sobered, and Natasha was determined to turn things around.

 _“Maybe,_ Hill,” Natasha murmured, grinning against the brunette’s neck, “It wasn’t anything profound that spurred me.”

Hill pulled out of the embrace, eyeing her curiously, and Natasha flashed her a silly smile.

“Maybe I didn’t like that straight whiskey from last night,” Natasha said, wrinkling her nose in disgust, “It just made me… _run to the hills.”_

“To the _Hill,”_ Natasha added, winking at the taller woman.

Hill grasped the reference and the pun instantly, and she laughed all but uproariously. The sound was infectious, and Natasha didn’t last even 3 seconds before she joined the brunette.

“What about you, though,” Natasha said, once the laughter had fizzled out, “What made you hold back until now?”

 _“The games,_ Romanoff,” Hill breathed, her body sagging a little despite her smile.

 _“Your_ games,” the taller woman clarified, her grin widening, “They’re insane and they’re inappropriate…”

Hill shook her head (fondly?) for a bit, “But, _goddammit,_ I _love_ them.”

The taller woman let Natasha chuckle before speaking again, “You think I’m enabling _you,_ but I’m really just enjoying _myself.”_

And Natasha just couldn’t stop _smiling,_ the endearing revelation filling her heart with warmth.

“The games were far too much fun,” Hill murmured, a lopsided grin on her lips, “I didn’t want to jump the gun and have them stop…”

“Not _‘were,’_ Hill,” Natasha replied, smiling back, “The games _are_ fun. You’re terribly mistaken if you think that they’ve ended now.”

“I’ve only got a new weapon in my arsenal,” Natasha added cockily, an eyebrow arched up, “To defeat you.”

“Is that so?” Hill huffed, just as expected, “And what would tha–”

Natasha quickly tiptoed and covered the taller woman’s lips, effectively shutting her up. Hill laughed into her mouth, but she kissed her back eagerly, her hand snaking around Natasha’s waist.

“You’re also mistaken, Romanoff,” the brunette hummed against Natasha’s lips, “If you think you’re the _only_ one winning this way…”

They broke apart and Natasha gazed up into Hill’s waiting eyes. She raised her hand and ran her fingers through the taller woman’s bangs.

“Maybe I got tired,” Natasha exhaled, “I got tired of winning _alone_ all this while...”

The blue orbs instantly mellowed, and Hill smiled softly, “But were you really…?”

 _“No,”_ Natasha whispered, her eyes locked with the brunette’s, “I wasn’t alone.”

Hill had always been there for her. In more ways than even _she_ would know.

The taller woman grinned back, her smirk suddenly shrewd, “I meant were you really _winning.”_

The quip found its mark, and Natasha reached for the brunette’s collar, yanking at it just a tad roughly.

“Oh, you’d _better_ take that back,” Natasha (faux) threatened.

And Hill instantly raised her good hand in the air, the sapphires shining with mirth even as she surrendered.

“You did win, Romanoff,” the brunette said, her voice and smile gentle.

And Natasha returned it before leaving the woman’s collar and cupping her cheek, drawing her in for a languid kiss.

There was an era when Natasha had wondered if her life had any _real_ purpose, apart from the killing and the orders and the missions. But she felt that despondence slowly seeping out of her now, as their lips moved in harmony.

Right there, on that random road in Rome, Natasha had found her reason.

At least, it felt like that.

Hill’s words from last night suddenly came to Natasha’s mind, and she smiled against the brunette’s lips.

“No, Hill,” Natasha whispered, pulling back just a little to look into the brightest, _bluest_ eyes ever, _“We won.”_

* * *

“… and the ceiling of the Basilica of Saint Mary Major was designed towards the end of the 15th century, and it’s gilded with real _gold –”_

Hill stopped talking abruptly, when she saw Natasha’s gaze drift away.

And Natasha cursed herself as the brunette’s expression turned sheepish.

They were at the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore (a rather poetic place to be, because, you know, she was here with _Hill)_ and the taller woman had been gushing on about the art and the history and the other geek-speak.

“I, uh…” Hill began, somewhat nervously, “I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

_Never._

“Yeah, you are,” Natasha grinned back.

Hill chuckled gruffly, her good hand coming up and scratching the back of her neck, almost absently. The move was so cute, Natasha’s smile just had to widen.

“It’s the architecture… I just…” Hill mumbled, shaking her head briefly, “I’m just a dork…”

“Is that self-praise?” Natasha quipped, “Or did anyone actually tell you that?”

They were the brunette’s own words, from yesterday, and Natasha waited for them to click. And Hill remembered them soon enough, her lips pulled up in a half-grin.

“Only your eyes,” the taller woman replied, throwing Natasha’s retort back at her, “That keep flitting towards the exit…”

Natasha gave her a small smile, “I keep looking at the door because I’d seen a woman outside in the costume of Princess Leia – with the hairdo and everything – and I’m waiting for her to walk in so I can show you.”

Natasha had almost said the whole thing in one breath, and she panted a little as she looked at Hill. At her familiar _are-you-serious-right-now_ poker face.

 _“And,_ uh…” Natasha murmured, a little coy herself, “I also saw a _pizza place_ on the way here… and I’m hungry.”

Hill let out a fond chuckle at that, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that it’s way past lunch time. You should've told me, though…”

Natasha gasped dramatically, “And interrupted the _riveting_ ramblings? About the hidden treasures out here, like Bernini’s spiral staircase? And how this basilica is believed to be the site of a miraculous August snowfall back in the 4th century?”

 _“Never,”_ Natasha whispered, grinning at the brunette like a lovesick fool.

Hill returned an endearing smile, “So, you _were_ listening to me…”

“Of course, I was,” Natasha smirked, hooking her arm through the taller woman's.

“Come on, now,” Hill said, squeezing Natasha’s fingers on her elbow, “I’m hungry too, let’s get some food. And then –”

“And then we’ll come back here,” Natasha cut her off, knowing what she was going to suggest, “We’ll see the rest of it.”

She knew the brunette wanted to.

_And I want to give you what you want._

Even if it was something so simple.

“It’s okay, Romanoff,” Hill replied, her voice soft, like she’d heard the unsaid words, “We could do something else that’s fun and –”

 _“Oh,_ rest assured, Hill,” Natasha interrupted her yet again, her voice sultry this time, “We _will_ have fun.”

“You have _no idea_ what things I have planned to do with you…” Natasha added, a devilish smirk on her lips, _“To_ you.”

Hill’s eyes inevitably darkened, and she swallowed forcefully, her gaze dropping to Natasha’s lips. And Natasha pulled the taller woman forward, fully intending to give her a teaser.

“Whoa, Romanoff,” Hill squeaked, stopping the kiss before it happened, “We’re at a _church.”_

“It’s rather convenient, Hill,” Natasha whispered, “We can confess the sin right after committing it.”

She let the taller woman laugh before she began tugging her closer once again. Hill’s eyes darted around in warning, but Natasha ignored it _(naturally)_ and brought her hand up, cupping the back of the brunette’s head.

And just when Hill thought they’d perpetrate any kind of blasphemy, Natasha reached for the rubber band holding the brunette’s ponytail in place and pulled it loose.

The freed tresses promptly tumbled down, just touching Hill’s shoulders, and Natasha proceeded to set them, getting rid of the tangles.

She took a step back once she was done, and bit her lip as she tried not to laugh at how adorably distressed the taller woman looked at the last-minute manoeuvre.

 _“Maybe,_ Hill,” Natasha all but purred, “What I meant by _‘fun’_ was just… _letting your hair down.”_

Natasha was rather proud of the pun as she watched the brunette chuckle unabashedly. And Natasha just had to join her.

Hill shook her head after a bit, a doting growl escaping her lips, _“Minx.”_

And Natasha’s heart nearly stopped at the word.

“Say that again,” Natasha murmured, surprised at the request and the softness of her voice.

And the brunette couldn’t look more baffled, “You want me to call you a minx again?”

“You do think I am one, don’t you?” Natasha replied, almost _yearning_ to hear the word again.

Hill studied her for a bit before a wicked smile broke out on her face, “It’s really a _fact_.”

The taller woman arched her eyebrows, waiting for Natasha to remember the reference from last night. And Natasha recalled the moment, when the game had started. The game of their rhymes. The silly-but-still-so-damn-sweet ones.

Natasha shot Hill a wide grin, her heartbeat increasing in anticipation.

It was plain _dumb,_ actually. They were _agents –_ hell, she was the _Black Widow –_ and yet, there she was, eager to hear whatever lame-as-hell poem the brunette was going to concoct on the spot.

“One of the pyramids in Giza is the Sphinx,” Hill whispered, her eyes dancing with mischief, “And _you,_ Romanoff, are the _sauciest_ minx.”

And, _goddammit,_ Natasha _loved_ it.

* * *

“You tried this yesterday, Romanoff, and it didn’t work. I’m not going to stop you.”

“A hundred bucks says you will.”

Natasha was pretty confident this time, as she held Hill’s phone in her hand.

They’d roamed around the city all day, and they were walking towards a fancy restaurant right now – Hill had insisted that their lasagna was _the_ best (according to a blog) – for dinner.

And they’d realised that they still hadn’t contacted HQ. But it had been the textbook mission, so Natasha didn’t want to waste time calling up Fury.

 _So,_ she’d suggested sending a text instead. The problem: the _contents_ of said text. Natasha typed them out on the phone – _Hill’s_ phone, since hers was lying in some ditch where she’d disposed it last night after finishing the op – and grinned as she ended the sentence.

She looked up and saw the brunette deadpanning back, _obviously_ having read the words.

“You want to send a message that says _“Allz good, boss”_ – with a _“z”_ – to Fury?” Hill asked, “From _my_ phone?”

“Yeah,” Natasha answered, struggling to keep a straight face, “Does it bother you, Hill? The blatant butchering of English…?”

The taller woman narrowed her eyes and kept walking, “Go ahead, be my guest.”

And Natasha nudged the brunette’s arm, her brows rising in challenge: _really, now?_

And Hill simply shrugged, like she was sure Natasha wasn’t going to do it. Oh, but Natasha was _so_ going to do it.

She kept staring at the brunette as her thumb hovered close – _dangerously_ close – to the “send” button on the phone.

And Hill’s farce inevitably cracked. The brunette sighed exaggeratedly and snatched the device out of Natasha’s hand. And Natasha smirked back triumphantly, all prepared to eloquently announce her victory.

But before she could, Hill’s fingers flew over the phone, and the next thing Natasha knew, they were on a call – the device on speakerphone – with Fury.

The call was intercepted in just a few rings, and the taller woman flashed Natasha a wolfish grin.

“Hello, Sir,” Hill spoke into the phone, her eyes fixed on Natasha, “I just called to tell you that we completed the op. _Allz good_ at our end, boss.”

And Natasha nearly tripped over _air_ as they walked, her jaw almost literally dropping to the floor.

And the brunette barely suppressed her laughter as she stopped in her tracks beside Natasha.

 _Touché, Hill._

Fury stayed quiet for a while, probably just as stumped as Natasha was feeling, and Hill simply waited with a shit-eating smirk on her lips.

 _“Okay,_ Agent,” the Director eventually replied, stretching the word, “I reckoned that the mission was successful, since we received the data you transferred to the servers.”

“But good to know you didn’t send over your sense of humour,” Fury added, a chuckle heard at his end.

Natasha looked over to Hill, and they grinned like idiots.

“Anyway,” the Director spoked after a bit, “Back to business, shall we?”

Fury didn’t wait for their reply and continued, “You’ve managed to evade Roman police with your heist, but Solomon must’ve eventually figured that the drive he has is fake.”

“So,” the Director sighed, “He’s sent out the memo to airports to perform extensive facial recognition checks…”

Hill glanced towards Natasha, the understanding dawning upon them quickly.

_He knows I was the decoy, and he’s looking for me…_

“It might not be so wise for you to leave the country,” Fury informed, “At least for the next week or two. Till the fire dies out.”

“Till _‘allz good,’”_ the Director added, and Natasha could _hear_ his grin.

“But what are we supposed to do here?” Hill asked, looking at Natasha.

“You’re in _Rome,_ Agent,” Fury said, his tone almost _cheeky,_ “You’ll do as the Romans do…”

With that, the Director ended the call.

Just a few seconds later, the phone chirped with an alert informing them that the bank balance – of the account S.H.I.E.L.D. had created for them, specifically for this mission – had just been topped up. By an insane amount.

“Fury’s version of a yearly bonus,” Natasha muttered, making the brunette chuckle.

They flashed each other the silliest grins and resumed walking, the restaurant coming into view at the end of the street.

“So,” Hill said after a bit, “What do you want me to do for you?”

The taller woman realised just how _wickedly_ open-ended the question was, and she rushed to add, “To make it up to you.”

Natasha’s forehead knitted together in confusion, and Hill gave her a small smile, “Not sure if you remember, but I’d told you yesterday that I would…”

Natasha recalled it soon enough, and she nodded, “Yeah, what are the conditions, though?

“There aren’t any,” the taller woman replied.

Natasha halted in her tracks, making the brunette stop too, “I can ask you for anything…?”

“Anything,” Hill answered softly.

This, Natasha realised, was the opportunity of a _lifetime._ Her mind was buzzing with the limitless possibilities…

It took her a while, but Natasha was able to narrow it down to one.

“I want you to say my name,” Natasha murmured.

Hill let out an amused huff, “I’ve said it tons of times, _Romanoff.”_

 _“No,”_ Natasha replied immediately, “Say my _name.”_

The taller woman observed her for a few seconds, surprised by the vehemence in the request. And then Hill’s lips curved up into the most _smouldering_ smirk Natasha had ever seen.

“How about,” the brunette began, her eyebrows arched up for emphasis, “We do something _fun_ later tonight…”

The taller woman leaned forward, brushing her lips over Natasha’s briefly before coming even closer, nipping Natasha’s ear.

“… and you _make_ me say your name,” Hill whispered, her voice delicate despite the proposition, _“Natasha.”_

And Natasha’s heart all but _soared,_ the name sounding like a _prayer,_ coming from the taller woman’s lips.

And Natasha couldn’t even stop herself when she cupped Hill’s cheek and took her in for an ardent kiss, her eyes closing at the utter _joy._

“Ever indulgent, aren’t you?” Natasha hummed against the woman’s lips.

“Speak for yourself,” the brunette said, pulling back, her smile wide, “You had to bear with all the history lectures earlier today…”

“I didn’t ‘ _bear with’_ them,’” Natasha murmured instantly, “I _enjoyed_ them.”

It was the most trivial confession, but Hill still gave her an _ethereal_ smile, as if she’d hung the moon and stars.

They started walking again and reached the entrance of the restaurant within the next half-minute.

The doorman gave them a courteous nod, “Good evening, do you have a reservation?”

“Yes, we do,” the taller woman answered, “It’s –”

“The name should be Hill,” Natasha interjected, making the man turn a little to face her, _“Maria_ Hill.”

The brunette’s name rolled smoothly off Natasha’s lips, and she found herself smiling shyly. And even though she wasn’t looking at the taller woman, she knew that Hill – _Maria –_ was grinning too. They eventually glanced at each other and their smiles grew collectively.

The moment was interrupted when the guy in front of them cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, pointing towards the diary he was holding, “I can’t seem to find that name.”

“Right,” Maria said, her voice a tad breathless, “My friend here must’ve forgotten that we made the booking under _her_ name. Try Nicole Rose, please…”

The guy found it quickly, and he ushered them in, leading them to a table by the window, the beautiful view of the Roman scenery greeting them as they took their seats. A waiter soon approached their table and they briskly placed their orders.

The ambience of the restaurant was elegant – and _romantic,_ Natasha would say, if the word wasn’t so sappy – and they both knew it was different this time. They’d had meals together before too, but it was pretty clear that right now, they were on a –

“A _‘friend,’_ Hill?” Natasha spoke, before the cheesy thought could complete itself, “Is that what I am to you?”

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Maria laughed fondly. Natasha reached for the brunette’s good hand over the table and squeezed it lightly.

“I think you and I both know,” Natasha said, a brow cocked up, “That _nothing_ between us was _ever_ platonic.”

“We have chemistry, Romanoff,” Maria agreed, grinning as she referenced _yet_ another moment from the earlier night, “But it’s been _professional.”_

“Until _now,”_ the brunette added, smirking impishly.

“And, uh, speaking of that,” Maria said, her smile suddenly faltering, “I, uh…”

The woman stopped talking abruptly and ducked her head, a strange nervousness marking her features.

Natasha nudged their entwined hands, prompting the brunette to look up, and gave her a gentle smile: _go on._

“So, uh…” Maria began, “Fury’s given us several thousand bucks and two weeks to kill… and, uh, _Rome_ isn’t the only Italian city I’ve wanted to visit…”

The brunette let it trail off, and Natasha felt her own heart beating excitedly against her ribcage.

“Are you…” Natasha squeaked, “Are you _asking me out?”_

Maria gave her a shaky grin, “Do I have to go down on my knees this time too?”

 _“No,”_ Natasha nearly growled, “You will _never_ do that again.”

The brunette scoffed lightly, “You seemed to want that yesterday –”

 _“That,”_ Natasha snarled, gripping the woman’s hand tightly, “Was a _queen’s command_.”

She pulled at their enmeshed fingers, bringing their faces a little closer, despite the table between them.

“But, _this,_ Hill,” Natasha whispered, “This is the _Widow’s warning.”_

Natasha glared into the blue orbs, “You know well enough which one to pay heed to…”

Natasha remembered the heart-tugging sight from yesterday, and she didn’t ever want the brunette to kneel before her again. The only situation when it would be even _remotely_ acceptable was –

 _“If_ you’re done vaguely threatening me,” Maria spoke, a smirk on her lips, _“Then answer the damn question.”_

_Yeah, that’s more like it._

“I would,” Natasha replied, grinning back slyly, “But you haven’t exactly asked me yet.”

And that anxious look returned on the brunette’s face.

“Would you…” Maria began once again, her eyes filling with hope, “Would you join me on a road trip across Italy? As _more_ than just a friend?”

And Natasha held back her smile.

_Yes. Of course, yes._

_“No.”_

And the brunette’s expression immediately deflated, hurt rippling across her features.

“I…” Maria mumbled, dropping her head, “I realise it might’ve been too forward of me to –”

 _“Not_ until you agree to my terms,” Natasha cut her off, and the woman perked up just a bit.

Natasha put on her most deadly scowl before speaking again, “You will _not_ be – won’t even be _thinking about –_ asking for separate rooms at the hotels…”

And Maria chuckled, the sound strangled and relieved at the same time.

“I’m sure we can ask for two single beds in the same room…” the brunette said, mischief dancing in her eyes.

“There’ll be just _one_ bed, Hill,” Natasha muttered, fighting her own smile, “One _queen-sized_ bed.”

Natasha didn’t even realise the indirect pun until the brunette’s face all but lit up.

“Anything you want, Romanoff,” Maria whispered, rubbing her thumb over Natasha’s knuckles.

The woman’s smile was so warm, Natasha instantly regretted the pain she’d just caused.

“I really do harass you, don’t I?” Natasha murmured, her eyes softening in apology.

“ _Diligently_ and _diabolically,”_ the brunette answered, smiling fondly.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, hoping that the look had at least a little bit of sass, “But you like me in spite of that.”

“I like you _because_ of that,” Maria replied, her grin as bright as the sun.

And she'd won Natasha over. In every way possible. Irrefutably, irretrievably.

“You make me smile, Romanoff,” the brunette said simply, “And that’s more than what we can bargain for, in our world…”

“Which is why I don’t want to screw this up,” Maria said, her tone suddenly sombre, “Are you sure about this? I would be okay if you didn’t want to rush into something serious so fast…”

And Natasha’s heart surged with devotion for the brunette.

Maria just did that. Never pushed, never pulled. But she held Natasha in place. More than just physically. She let Natasha take the reins. Always.

“I’m sure,” Natasha said, smiling reassuringly.

 _I’m sure,_ Natasha wanted to say, _because you told me last night that I can’t hurt you; and I know that you would never hurt me._

“It might be ‘fast’ for others,” Natasha added, “But not for us…”

_We’ve already been through so much together._

“We talked a fair bit about the sword and the shield yesterday,” Natasha said, her grin widening, “But you forgot the most important thing.”

 _“They belong together,”_ Natasha whispered, gazing deep into the sapphires, “On _and_ off the battlefield.”

And Maria’s smile couldn’t have been more brilliant, her eyes ablaze with affection.

She gave Natasha’s hand a tender squeeze before resting back against her chair. And Natasha mirrored the move, still gazing into the blue orbs.

Their food was served in the next minute, and they shot each other a quick grin before turning towards their dishes.

“So, then, _Natasha,”_ the brunette spoke after a bit, a smile on her lips, “Since we’re doing this the traditional way after all, tell me more about yourself…”

And Natasha nearly laughed at the request.

“You’ll be surprised how much you _already_ know about me,” Natasha grinned back.

“Yeah,” Maria smiled, “But I’d like to know more.”

“More than just your bra size,” the brunette added, winking at Natasha.

And Natasha _did_ laugh this time, remembering the reference all too well.

She was just about to speak when Maria’s phone began buzzing on the table, right beside their plates. It was a S.H.I.E.L.D.- issued phone for the op, so they knew that the call was mostly intended to be for both of them.

They peered over to look at the screen of the vibrating device, and found themselves looking at a number, the country code indicating that it was someone from the US.

“It’s probably Barton,” Natasha muttered, “Must be calling to tell me that I was right – _obviously –_ and that his first kid’s going to be a boy.”

Maria’s forehead furrowed in question, and Natasha waved a hand dismissively, “We have an ongoing bet about the gender of his child…”

“I think that’s his number…” Natasha mumbled, looking at the screen once again.

 _“‘You think?’”_ Maria said, “You aren’t sure…?”

“It could be someone _else,_ you know,” the brunette pointed out, “From S.H.I.E.L.D... calling to inform us about some new crisis…”

 _It’s possible,_ Natasha mused, _but not too likely._

They stared at each other for a bit before Natasha reached for the phone and declined the call.

Maria arched up her brows, seemingly impressed (shocked?) by the brazen disregard. But then Natasha grinned at her, and the brunette’s expression relaxed, a gentle smile breaking out on her face.

And Natasha knew that both of them had the same thought in their minds.

If it was Fury who’d called and he needed them, he’d find other ways to contact them. And if he _really_ needed them, they’d be there, as always. Fighting by each other’s side, as always.

But right now, as their gazes locked together, in that… elegant _and_ romantic (Natasha finally permitted the word into her vocabulary) restaurant, Natasha couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Now, _Maria,”_ Natasha said, leaning back into her chair, “I believe we were talking about bra sizes…”

“Yes,” the brunette grinned back, following the movement, “Yes, we were…”

Whatever was on the other side of that call could wait.

The Widow was on a date.

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I took the chapter names from the three parts of the famous (and medieval) Italian poem "Divine Comedy" by the poet Dante Alighieri, and the words are Italian:  
> \- Inferno: Hell  
> \- Purgatorio: Purgatory  
> \- Paradiso: Heaven.  
> I thought it would be rather poetic (I'm really big into that kind of stuff, in case it wasn't obvious).
> 
> Also the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore is a really pretty church in Rome, with amazing mosaics and beautiful artworks, and the most regal interior, and... yeah, I'm a sucker for Roman architecture. Sorry.


End file.
